


Hail to the King

by something_safe, tuesdaysgone



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album), The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys: California (Comics)
Genre: ALL OF IT, Action and Adventure and Romance oh my!, Angst with a happy ending eventually, Breathplay, Enemies to Lovers, Fisting, Fraternization, Fun Ghoul/Party Poison - Freeform, Korse grows a conscience, Korse/Party Poison - Freeform, Love Triangle, M/M, Manipulation, Miscommunication, Oral Sex, Party Poison (Danger Days) Is A Dick, Party cannot be monogamous and everyone else just has to deal with it, Penetrative Sex, Polyamory, Pre-Fabulous Killjoys Comic, Pre-Killjoys (Danger Days), Rough Sex, Sex Toys, Sex Work, Spanking, TW for drugs and alcohol, The Fabulous Killjoys (Danger Days) Are Not MCR, The Fabulous Killjoys Universe, With Bad Taste in Men, Zones Slang (Fabulous Killjoys), and a LOT of smut in between, gay shit, manual sex, misinterpretation, ropeplay, unsafe sex (kind of), violence within the context of the killjoys universe, who's fooling who
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 18:01:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 62,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29828781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/something_safe/pseuds/something_safe, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuesdaysgone/pseuds/tuesdaysgone
Summary: Korse and Party Poison are playing a game of chicken all over the Zones, first with cars and ray guns, and then in an entirely more intimate capacity. Neither of them are sure if they're winning or losing. Then they stop caring.A canon-divergent work that explores the Killjoy's lives before the events of the 'Na Na Na' video.
Relationships: Fun Ghoul/Party Poison (Danger Days), Korse/Party Poison (Danger Days)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 15





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work we started many years ago, finished, and then forgot about. It has two completely finished parts, and we'll upload both over the course of the next couple of weeks. 
> 
> It's niche. It's long. It isn't perfect, and the canon divergence is... honestly, it's hard to tell what is and isn't canon within the Killjoys Universe, so there will be inconsistencies. But if you like enemies to lovers, angst, romance, and heaps of smut - this is for you.

When the vigilante Party Poison turns up on Korse’s digital desk, he curls his lip. The face that stares at him from the wanted poster is blurry, the image in eye-searing color, more than Korse has seen for years. It’s instantly more daring than the black and white mug shots they keep up around the Scarecrow headquarters – not that they’re necessary. Everyone knows who the Killjoys are. Everyone knows who Party Poison is. Public enemy number one in Battery City; King of the Wreckage beyond it.

Taking in all that blood red, Korse is put in mind of poisonous snakes: _don’t get close, I bite_.

Reluctantly, he taps the file open, the glowing blue on the glass whirring, and then rearranging to show him the unlocked report. It turns up things he expects: dead parents, multiple run-ins with the law, all the trimmings. What he doesn't expect is how much of a record he has already, considering his age. Short spells in readjustment have done nothing, and the second mug shot he pulls up shows a snarling, battered desert rat with a black eye and a half-smile. He’s been put through it all, torture, pharmaceuticals, shock therapy, but it never stuck. His miscreant crew always rally to rescue him, but his will is iron-clad.

Thankfully, so is Korse’s. Party has never met anyone like him before. He reads on with a thoughtful him. Considering the length of his file, it's somewhat surprising Party's still alive. But there he is on recorded CCTV, grinning and blazing. Korse watches it a few times over, scrutinising. He's moving like something, hurts, but he runs like a wild animal anyway.  
  
Korse runs with him; brings up the known whereabouts file and scans over it, devouring the images. Party Poison will be hard to catch, but that's half the fun. He could use a challenge after the shit the Boss sends down to his desk most days.  
  
He closes the files, swipes the data over to his in-car tablet and grabs his jacket. The Zones are dirty and full of death, but this is what he was made for.  
  
In the car, he searches the files: this will be easier if there is a recent Killjoy sighting. The problem, he sees quickly, is that there are too many. "How many of you are there," he grouses, scanning a small map where the sightings are scattered, all within a few days of one another. Well, at least he knows where to start.   
  
He's beginning to think he should have brought a team of dracs, but alone, there's more chance of sightings. Dr Death Defying is usually on the lookout for patrols. Korse needs Party Poison relatively alone, relatively tired, and surprised. It's not like he isn't capable. He needs to be less dependent on them, not more.  
  
Accelerating to leave the city, Korse closes in on the most frequent sightings of Party. Only two of them are without the other Killjoys in tow. He's not sure if he wants to go four against one just yet. With any luck, those sightings- which seem to be regular- are accurate.  
  
At least Party's car is distinctive. Then again, so is his.  
  
He keeps his radio on scan in case he can pick up a pirate broadcast. If there's a whisper of Party's whereabouts, he wants to know.  
  
After a few hours of driving, he decides to park on top of a bluff in Two. From there he can get out; get his bearings and check he hasn't been followed. The sun glares down, making everything shimmer in the heat. He can see the nearby landmarks too; a gas station, a junkyard.  
  
A trail of dust shooting up along one of the dirt roads below gives him pause. Worth a look. He gets out a scope; studies the trail until the dust clears a little. He can't make it out the car just yet. It's getting closer, not farther away.  
  
He closes the scope; gets back in the car. If he takes his time driving back down to the main road, he might be able to tail them for a while. He doesn't want to head too far away from his quarry, but with any luck they won't make him.  
  
As he rounds the last turn, he sees it - it is a Trans Am after all. Their Trans Am. "Got you," he breathes.  
  
He feels the adrenaline of the chase start to eat away at his typical medicated calm. He supposes it's too much like good luck that the fugitive will be alone, but for now, with plenty of rock formations and bluffs for cover, just this is blindingly good luck. Whoever's driving the Trans Am seems to be completing some sort of regular circuit, not fleeing from anything in particular, judging by his speed.

Korse monitors them for a few miles before he sees signs of the Trans Am start to slow. He reduces his speed to match. He can't be seen.  
  
When the Trans Am fishtails into the lot of an old truck stop, Korse swings his car off the road behind a clump of brush. With his scope out, he sees the driver's door swing open. The flash of red makes him bare his teeth in a grin. It is the fugitive driving after all. There's no one else waiting in the car. This is too easy.  
  
"Got you," he breathes again. He tucks the scope away and lets himself out of his car, unholstering his gun. If Party Poison is going in to see someone in particular, Korse will need to evaluate that, but his gait is fairly relaxed as he walks across the lot, hair flickering like wildfire in the wind. He's sauntering, actually. Maybe he just...does that all the time. These desert dwellers, they're always so calm. Korse grits his teeth and trails Party toward the building.  
  
The place looks fairly ransacked, so he's not sure what business the fugitive could have here. Korse waits until he gets inside and skirts around looking for a side entrance. An uncovered, glassless window makes it easy enough. Inside, the air is cool and dry.

The truck stop is quiet, and Korse wonders if anyone else is here, or if the fugitive is using this building as storage, or a dead drop. He listens intently, breathing shallow and quiet. He can hear Party's solitary footsteps. He even sounds like he's strutting. Does he confront, or does he simply observe? Until he is sure if they're alone, he should simply listen.  
  
The steady footsteps draw closer, and Korse grows silent, still, just following the sound. The fugitive is...humming, in time with his own footsteps. So clearly at ease. Korse decides they must be alone after all. The only thing he can hear to indicate Party has any cares in the world is a faint weight shift on one foot when he walks, like he's doing his best to disguise a limp. Slinking out from behind the door, Korse pursues him down the dark corridor, littered with debris.  
  
When Party kneels down to pick a lock on a door, Korse creeps up behind him, intending to put a gun to his head.  
  
"That a gun, or you just happy to see me?" Party murmurs, concentrating on what he's doing. At Korse's characteristic silence, he supplies his own laugh. "If you want, I'll act shocked."

  
Korse is lost for words - for a moment. "Why bother? Are your theatrics worthwhile?"  
  
"They're pretty good, yeah..." A lazy grin is starting to crawl across Party's mouth. "But not as good as yours. Y'looked just like James Bond then, buddy." He gets the door unlocked and pushes it open. "There. Now we can talk."   
  
"Stand up and put your hands on your head," Korse tells him.  
  
"Which one?" Party grins, standing. His arms are wiry thin, textured with scars. "I bet you're a watcher, you seem the type."  
  
Korse's mouth twists in a sneer. "The one hosting your big mouth."  
  
"Oh," Party says, sounding disappointed. He backs a few steps into the room, slinging his palms onto his head. "That's a shame. I make a hell of a picture." He smiles, shifting his weight. "You didn't deny it, though, so maybe we can work something out here?"  
  
"Stop talking and I won't shoot you, that's the deal."   
  
"Maybe you should gag me." Korse brings up his other hand to steady the gun. "Hey now," Party protests. "If you shoot me you won't get anything. Information or...whatever. But if that's what turns your crank...."  
  
"I don't need information, you're what I'm here for."  
  
"If you came for me, you could at least come for me first." Party looks entirely pleased with his filthy wordplay. "Or - well, the posters say dead or alive, I guess." He flings his arms wide in a parody of submission.  
  
Korse feels momentarily murderous, just a flare in his eyes, then he smiles. "Get on your knees, then."  
  
Party laughs. "Wait, really?" At Korse's steady nod, he grins wider. His eyes are unusually big, and glassy enough that he's got to be coasting on something. He drops down to his knees, and Korse watches him with a raised eyebrow. Something about the way he shakes a little; the way he looks so expectant. It makes Korse's skin crawl. He has no idea why he's doing this, except perhaps to call the boy's bluff. Maybe that's what the fugitive expects, too.  
  
"You gonna make me close my eyes and open my mouth?" Party needles. "'Cause I know my guns."  
  
That was in the file, too.  
  
"I'm going to handcuff you," Korse replies, gun trained on Party as he takes the cuffs off his belt. He's more of a dead than alive kind of Exterminator, usually, but he has a feeling the Chairwoman might want to see this.  
  
Party licks his lips, chuckling. "Kinky."  
  
Korse doesn't reply, just secures the cuffs around his wrists. He tilts his head, almost measuring. This has almost been too easy. No, it has definitely been too easy. The last time Party had been apprehended, he'd broken one drac's nose and ruptured another's spleen, according to the file. Party watches him, and Korse sees the bare spark of glee in his eyes as he pistons up off his knees and headbutts him squarely in the face.  
  
Korse growls a wordless curse and jerks his head back, arm coming up to block the next blow. Party undercuts him with cuffed hands, knuckles locked and teeth bared. Short of making him bite his own tongue, it instead sends Korse's raygun flying across the room. "Should have just accepted the BJ and let me go, old man."  
  
Korse doesn't even look in the direction of the gun, kicking hard at the back of Party's knee. He staggers, slamming into the edge of a table. "Not my orders," Korse spits.  
  
"Orders, sounds fun," Party gasps. He rolls onto his back as Korse moves toward him and plants his feet against his shoulders, "I can give you some better ones if you want."   
  
The way his back arches is frankly obscene, and he wheezes when Korse elbows him in the gut, but in the blink of an eye he's gotten himself out of the cuffs somehow. Korse notices when his knuckles rocket into his eye. He lurches sideways, head spinning from the hit. Party looks sloppy and cocky, but he's clearly not all talk. He's not pulling his gun either, seemingly content to scrap like the street kid he is. Korse shakes the stars from his vision and grins mirthlessly. He can scrap, too.   
  
He blocks another of Party's punches and delivers a hard kick to the meat of Party's thigh. This must be the leg responsible for that faint limp, because Party goes down like it's made of paper, barely swinging over to catch himself. He curls in on himself, his hair splayed like a dead bird on the dirty floor. "Fuck," he hisses.   
  
Korse feels himself surprised again. It is strange, to feel it so many times in one day when he hasn't in as many years. "Are you interested in explaining how you got out of those cuffs?" Korse asks mildly.  
  
"I can dislocate my thumbs if I hit them right." Party gets up, lurching away from Korse as steadily as he can when his thigh is still threatening to give out from beneath him. The hand he pulls his raygun with is plenty steady, though. "I'll be leaving now."  
  
"I'll be right behind you."  
  
Party smiles brightly. "I'm counting on it." He steps back; grabs a duffel bag from by the door that Korse hadn't seen when he came in, swinging it over his shoulder. He blows Korse a kiss and slams the door between them; in the two seconds it takes Korse to retrieve his own gun and follow he's already far enough away that a shot won't do much damage. He lets one fly anyway; watches it glance off the taillight of the Trans Am.   
  
He keeps marching for his own car, teeth grinding. He was stupid not to disarm Party; though he knows he favors his fists over his guns, he'd relied too heavily on him being under the influence. How someone functions on that much shit, he isn't sure.  
  
He's driving now, the plume of Party's lead a flag in the distance. Korse has to push his car hard to keep him in sight. Even now, Party is too far ahead for him to keep pace, and if he reaches his associates before Korse reaches him, he will be outnumbered and outgunned. He will have to wait for another opportunity.

He's not looking forward to submitting the report on this incident.  
  
*  
  
It's two days before he encounters Party again. He has his whole crew with him this time, harassing a patrol of dracs doing guard duty on one of the collection vans. Korse only has to pull up alongside to see what's going on.  
  
Party clearly isn't high today, or his accomplices would be stupid to hang out the windows like that. The sight of him has Party grinning and gliding closer on the road, until there's barely an inch of space between their cars. "You finally caught up, old man!" His voice barely carries over the roar of the engine.  
  
Korse curls his lip and draws his blaster, pointing it out his passenger window in Party's direction. "Don't stop now." All at once, three more are simultaneously trained on him. He can see Fun Ghoul hanging over the top of the car, and he looks like he's packing much more than standard lightning.

Party grins wider still. "Dare you to take that shot, Robocop."  
  
"Leave, Party," he growls.  
  
"Or what, you'll fail to arrest me?"  
  
Korse grits his teeth. That still stings. Ghoul is laughing, which salts it further. It'll be hard to get a clean shot while he's driving, and he's very likely to get blown to smithereens if he tries. He jerks the wheel instead, grinding the sides of their cars together.  
  
Ghoul lurches from the roof, disappearing back through the T-top. Korse can hear Party laughing above the shriek of metal. He's too good of a driver to lose control from such a little bump, but he does swerve, and Korse drops back to tap his back quarter panel for good measure. His face is starting to hurt, and he realizes he's grinning a deaths-head grin. Then Party slams on the brakes.

Korse clips the right-hand corner of the Trans Am and feels the back end of his own car swing round from the force. His tires scream in protest, but he keeps under control. He hits his own breaks; skids around until the two cars are head on, suddenly still on the road, silence echoing across the plain of sand and shrub.  
  
He is not playing chicken with Party Poison. He knows how that will end. But in the distance, he can see the BLI vans making the turn back towards Bat City, so he's at least managed to distract the Killjoys from their target. With the sun glaring off the windscreen, he can't see what's going on in the driver's seat, but the air feels contemplative. He leaves his gun on the passenger seat, and grips the steering wheel, waiting. He can wait as long as he has to. He's sure his patience will outlast Party's.   
  
Party steps out and ambles across the road toward Korse's car. He's not limping anymore. He seems relaxed, though, goggles pushed up into his hair and bare arms exposed to the sun. He's armed but the gun practically dangles from his fingers.  
  
Korse is sure that three other guns are trained on him from the car, so he stays where he is. Party comes to the driver door and taps on the window with the nose of his gun. Korse quirks an eyebrow. He's not that stupid.   
  
Party visibly sighs and holsters the gun. When the window sighs down, he grins; leans in and folds his arms against the lip. This close, Korse can see three-inch roots and the tan line across the bridge of his nose. He could count the freckles there if he allowed himself to be distracted. Party leans even closer. His breath smells coppery stale. "You scratched your pretty car," he hums.  
  
"I'll extract the damages from you at some point, I expect."   
  
"Well, I'm free now."  
  
"You're trying that trick again?"  
  
"Worked pretty well last time, I didn't die..." Party bites his lip and grins, "come on, you're tempted. You could think of worse ways to let off steam."  
  
"I can't even count the reasons that's a bad idea," Korse says flatly. "Do you think I'm that stupid?"  
  
Party looks around, humming. "This is the second time you've been on the end of my gun, alone in the middle of the desert. I'm starting to think maybe you are." He raises an eyebrow. "Smart people get everything they can out of a situation like this. You could have a lot more than a punch in the teeth and sand in your eyes."  
  
"Smart people complete the objectives their superiors have assigned," Korse replies.  
  
"Smart people enjoy it," Party grins.  
  
"Do you?" Korse murmurs, not entirely unkindly.  
  
"I could find ways to make it more enjoyable, but you're my favorite person who tries to kill me on the regular, for sure."  
  
"How kind of you. Did you come over here for a reason?" Korse asks.  
  
"Wondered if you wanted me to give you a head start this time." Party grins.  
  
"And if I say no?" he replies.  
  
"Then I guess I'll keep making you look stupid."  
  
Korse shrugs. "How enjoyable for you."  
  
"If you do want a head start though," Party looks at his nails, "I can tell you when I'll next be at the services on my own, and we can have a rematch."  
  
Korse eyes him with distaste. "Sure, why not." The boy is so full of shit.  
  
"You don't sound like you really want it."  
  
Korse leans back in his seat. "What exactly am I supposed to want?"  
  
"Fun?" Party shrugs, "Adventure?"  
  
"Get back in your car," Korse says expressionlessly.  
  
"You're just saying that so you can watch my ass as I walk away."  
  
"Clearly," he grits out.  
  
Party looks ecstatic to be annoying him so much. He blows him a kiss and straightens, starting to walk back toward his car. "Three days, my next collection," he calls, peering back over his shoulder, "I'll be alone."  
  
Korse guns his engine, smirking when Party jumps. He flips him the bird and gets back into his car with a flourish.  
  
Korse grabs his gun and sends blaster bursts toward the tires until Party peels out. He gets nothing but Ghoul's middle finger out the window in response, and he laughs a little. Something has changed in Party Poison since they last met; he's not even playing coy about what he wants. Maybe he doesn't need to. Is this how he's been staying out of custody, sucking off the Crows? Who among them would take that offer? The boy is clearly not afraid. Maybe this is why. Korse can see why maybe a Drac would go with it, but he can't decide if Party is touched enough to try it with someone like him.  
  
He watches the Trans Am's dust trail disappear. He should be disgusted. He's not sure disgust is the sourness in his stomach. He's still not sure that this isn't just some sort of elaborate trap. It can't not be. Party is being so persistent. There must be some kind of payoff, some scheme. The boss isn't happy when her Crows let fugitives slide, but he thinks she'd approve of further investigation in this case.   
  
Three days. He'll have backup at the ready. He'll see what fresh hell this Party has to offer. And he'll get there early. He wants the high ground for once.  
  
*  
  
Even for the desert, it's hot as hell when Party pulls up. Korse is waiting, leaning against his driver's side door, arms crossed. "Leave the gun in the car or keep driving, Party," he orders.  
  
"Choices, choices." Party quips, watching him keenly. Korse isn't armed, either, but he spotted tracks earlier that suggest a nearby patrol. He pulls his gun, dangles it carelessly by his leg. "How many friends did you bring, Head Exterminator Korse?"  
  
"Only a couple, but they're not close enough to know what's going on," Korse says absently.  
  
Party tilts his head for a moment, then tosses his gun through the open window of his car. "I'm gonna trust you. Let's get out of the sun."  
  
Korse can see that he's sweating, the cut-out arms of his t-shirt and the fabric on his chest dark with it. He probably won't have drunk for a couple of days, not with clean water sources being so few and far between in this climate. He reaches into his own car and pulls out a bottle, tossing it underhand before striding to the truck stop door.  
  
Party catches it, staring at it for a second before he follows him, stealing another quick glance around before they go inside. He doesn't like this. Even though it was his fuckin' idea. He has to own it though.

"You look particularly dour today, Mr. Korse," he murmurs.  
  
"Do I?" Korse replies carelessly, leaning against the edge of a counter.  
  
"In a good way." Party watches him. He tenses when Party ambles within five feet of him, relaxes fractionally when Party wanders away.  
  
He's heading for the same room as last time, unscrewing the water bottle as he goes. "Surprised you're drinking it," Korse grumbles.  
  
"Yeah, well, either it's poison and I die hydrated or it's not and I live hydrated."  
  
If there's anything worse than Party with roots and freckles, it's Party swigging from the bottle, water leaking down his throat. Korse imagines his Adam's apple moving under the clench of his palm and feels himself swallow. Clearly, he is more susceptible than he knew to whatever game Party is playing. He feels a flare of anger.

"Fuck, it's hot," Party mutters, pouring a little water over himself as he walks, slicking his hair back with his palm. He looks Korse up and down. "Can't understand how you don't collapse under all that."  
  
"Discipline," Korse replies curtly.  
  
"I've heard of it. Not a fan," Party replies.  
  
Korse finds himself sneering a bit. "I'm shocked."  
  
Party pouts. "You've let me get away twice now, where's the respect?"  
  
"I'm not sure I could tolerate the drive back to the city."  
  
The pout gets bigger. "I am very good company."  
  
"I'd have to gag you."  
  
"Hey, if that's what you're into," Party shrugs.  
  
"What you're into," Korse corrects.  
  
"Well, you won't tell me what you're into," Party says, flicking his hair out of his face. Without schooling the sharp flood of irritation that goes through him, Korse grabs a handful of it, teeth bared when he jerks Party in close. "That's more like it," Party says, eyes wide and watering.  
  
"What do you want, Poison?" Korse breathes.  
  
"I -" Party's mouth works for a moment, chapped lips twisting. "Didn't think you'd go for that."  
  
"No, what do you want from -me-?" He shakes him, roughly, barely restraining his grin when he yelps. "Wait, don't tell me. You want my attention, don't you?"  
  
"I want you," Party says, grinning helplessly, eyelashes wet, "I dunno why, I just want you. What are you into?" he murmurs. "You'll tell me sooner or later, Korse."  
  
Unable to keep from examining his face, Korse shakes his head. "You're fucked in the head, Poison," he says.  
  
Party looks at him like he's especially dim. "Yeah, and?"  
  
"And I don't know if I'm fucked in the head for not putting you down like a sick dog."  
  
"Hey now," Party protests. He doesn't look particularly like he disagrees though. Korse is still holding onto his hair, gaze strangely hungry. "Whatever you wanna do, maybe you should just do it instead of leaving us both hanging," Party protests.  
  
Korse doesn't move for a long moment, then he shoves him back up against the wall. His thigh presses hard between Party's, his mouth pressing to his neck, tasting water and salt and grease, feeling the flutter of his pulse.  
  
"Fuck- finally..." Party breathes, grabbing at his shoulders to haul him in closer. He tips his cheek, teeth scraping against the shell of his ear. "Wreck me," he spits. Korse yanks his hair again, biting into the meat of his throat. Party whines and arches into him, fumbling for Korse's belt immediately. He catches his wrist and pins it to the wall. He squeezes hard, so the bones grind, but Party just whimpers and pants in his ear. "Fuck," he mutters, "yeah, do that."  
  
Korse growls and grabs for his other hand, pinning them both above his head. Party whines and thrusts his hips against Korse's thigh. "Disgusting," Korse says softly, but he presses in closer, letting him arch. Party smells of sweat and salt but it's incredible. The skin in the hollow of his throat is damp and warm. Korse licks it, gently, and feels Party moan. "Poison," he mutters, breath hot, "are you sure this is what you want?"  
  
"You'll fucking know if I don't," Party snipes. "Let me touch you."  
  
"No," he answers shortly, lip curling. He secures both his wrists in one hand; shifts the other to his throat, hands not quite gentle. In between his hands, Party looks a bit puzzled. Korse applies pressure to wrists and neck and kisses him.  
  
He groans weakly, pushing against the pressure of his hands, teeth finding his lower lip and tugging. Korse licks his lips, pressing his tongue into Party's mouth. Their kiss feels frantic, conflicted. When Korse squeezes on his throat, Party finally jerks his hands free; folds his arms tightly around his neck.   
  
"Told you you'd like it," he rasps.  
  
"Who said I did?" he lies grimly. Fruitlessly, too, because he's not moving away.

Party glances down, grin filthy, "Well, you seem to..." Korse growls. "Stop choking me and let me take care of that for you," Party offers, tongue poking suggestively into his cheek. "I'm good at it. You know I am."  
  
"Lots of practice, Poison?" Korse retorts.  
  
“Oh yeah, lots and lots. Why, jealous?" He grins ruefully, then tilts his head. "Or are you worried about quid pro quo, Head Exterminator?" Korse rolls his eyes so aggressively it makes Party snort. His eyes dance. "We can call it a free sample."  
  
"I'm not afraid," he grits, "I'm deciding whether I should arrest or kill you when this is over."  
  
"Aw, jeez, I was hoping to make another daring escape."  
  
"That wasn’t one of the options."  
  
Party pouts. "No vision. This is why you're stuck on the corporate ladder, you know," he says brattily.  
  
"Perhaps I should change careers, sucking cock for gas must afford you so many other opportunities."  
  
Party just smirks, and Korse fists a hand in his shirt. He watches Party drop to his knees, reluctant to make much space for him between the wall and his body. Party looks suddenly intent, licking his lips and reaching for Korse's belt again.  
  
"You always look so fucking serious," he mutters, shucking down the zipper, shoving his slacks down around his hips once the belt is open, "I don't know why it fucking gets me so much."  
  
"Is that why you're always trying to shoot me?"   
  
"it was, but now, I've got a new method." He leans in and mouths at Korse's cock through his briefs. He tenses incrementally, then shoves a hand back into Party's hair. He resists watching, just closing his eyes and setting his jaw. If he was expecting a trick, he doesn't get it. Party throws himself into this like he does with everything else - no hesitation.  
  
"Fuck," Korse mutters, and his hand tightens incrementally, teeth clenching. He's deep down Party's throat already, and Party's eyelashes flutter delicately, in sharp contrast to the mess of drool leaking out of his mouth. He sucks long and wet and messy, with his hands gripping tightly at Korse's shirt, pulling him in closer with every stroke. Korse tries to hold back a moan. It's hard, especially when he can feel Party trying to pull it out of him, competing to make him show him. He's not using his hands, the fucking show-off. Korse imagines them cuffed behind him and his lips twitch in a cruel smile.  
  
Party looks up at him, cheeks pink and misted with sweat, his eyes shining. Korse thinks he's smiling too, little shit. He tugs at his messy handful of red hair. Party moans and sucks him in deeper, gulping weakly. His hands knuckle tighter in his shirt. Korse hisses and starts moving his hips.  
  
"You must do this a fucking lot, Poison," he seethes. Party snorts. "Yes, I've seen your file. I know the answer to that," Korse says automatically. He groans weakly at the sudden scrape of Party's teeth; grabs his hair with both hands, voice warning when he finds it again. "Party."  
  
Party pulls off. "Rude," he whines.  
  
"So was that," Korse counters.  
  
"Like you're surprised." Party rolls his eyes and gasps at another tug on his hair. Korse is curling his hand against the base of his skull, fingers tight.   
  
"No, not surprised, just resigned. Do it again and I'll slap you 'til your eyes cross."  
  
Party grins again. "Ooh, tell me more."  
  
"What, you want me to slap you?" Korse mutters, eyes dark.  
  
"I'm just saying," Party pants, and Korse doesn't miss how he presses the heel of his hand down against his crotch. "There's a lot of middle ground between letting me get away and arresting me. Maybe you ought to just tell me what a bad, bad boy I am."  
  
Korse does slap him then, hard, still holding his hair to keep him from lurching. "Like that?" he says, an unpleasant smile tugging at the edge of his mouth at the look of shock on Party's face.  
  
"Yeah." Party recovers fast, rubs at his jaw. "Fuck."  
  
Korse grabs his wrist, pushing it away. He slaps him again. "You said you wanted it. You said you want me to tell you how fucking bad you are, Poison," he breathes, "is that not really what you want?"  
  
Party licks over his bottom lip again, looking indecisive. "If that's what you're into," he says, with a curl of his lip, smile mean.  
  
"I'm not meant to be into anything," Korse snaps.  
  
"You are, though. Everything you do is dictated by what you're into," Party raises his brows, voice sardonic. "Praise. Violence. Blow jobs. Don't pretend you're fucking empty because it makes it easier."  
  
"Who said I was pretending? Who said it was easier?"  
  
"You just fucking hit me and it made your fucking dick leak," Party hisses, "you won't let go of my fucking hair in case I stop sucking your dick, you -want- something, you -feel- things. Pretending you don't is just a sign you have something to fucking hide."  
  
Korse makes a disgusted noise and lets go of his grip on Party's hair, turning away. "I knew this was a setup. Stop trying to figure me out. I'm nothing."  
  
"Fuck, no," Party grabs him; jerks him back, "don't fucking do that, I'm not. Put your dick in my fucking mouth."  
  
Korse growls. Party pushes him up against the wall with surprising strength and curls his fingers around Korse's hips. Korse makes a ragged noise when Party takes him in his mouth. "You're fucked in the head," he says again, and when Party hums in agreement he inhales sharply at the soft vibration around his cock. Party's right; he's still hard, maybe even harder than he was before. He just needs to make himself let go.  
  
He's sucking wet and fast now, his hand pressing into the inside of Korse's thigh, and humming softly, apparently satisfied that Korse isn't pushing him away. Korse presses his hands against the wall, letting his head fall back. He moans. He can't help it. Party is fucking making him feel; he's taking fucking pleasure from him, needling him with his own want.   
  
His humming turns into soft moans when Korse thrusts harder into his mouth. He can taste that he's getting closer, that he's losing himself. Party shoves a palm down between his thighs and strokes himself through worn denim as he sucks Korse off hot and messy. He misses the hands in his hair, but that's his own fault. Even so, it's driving him insane that Korse is so close; that the invisible shield between them has been well and truly shattered, and now he's as human and alive as anyone Party Poison knows, panting and moaning under his mouth. It's the most power he'll ever have over him, he thinks. And it's driving him crazy to not know why he said yes. But he can't think about it. Other things to think about. Like fucking coming.  
  
Korse is grabbing at his hair suddenly, hips shoving. Party can't help but choke on how deep he is, how fucking unforgiving Korse is as he gets closer- but it doesn't matter, because as soon as Korse grabs and shoves him like that, his nose crushed against his skin and drool tracking down his chin, Party is coming in his jeans like a fucking teenager. He can't even breathe, and when Korse comes down his throat he chokes, pulls against the hold in his hair and groans at another pulse of heat it causes.  
  
Korse lets go of him suddenly and takes a step away. "Fuck-" Party chokes a little, looking up with wet eyes, face flushed, "what-?"  
  
Korse just licks his lips and stares, eyes black.  
  
"Gonna fucking kiss me for giving you that orgasm even though you were a jerk about it?" Party rasps, wiping his mouth on his filthy shirt. When he stands and advances a step or two, Korse still doesn't move, though he turns his body towards Party just a bit. He looks caught between rage and satisfaction, and like he's not sure which he should go with. Party steps in and looks down, one eyebrow quirked as he pulls his underwear back up; starts to do up his slacks. "There, like it never happened."  
  
"Hardly," Korse mutters.   
  
"Aww, you do care," Party croons. Korse doesn't respond, not until Party's hands come up to his jaw. Party can feel his jaw tense. "So cute when you're surly," he murmurs, then he kisses him with telling chaste, "thanks for the water." He pulls away then, shoving his hair back from his face and starting to walk away.  
  
Korse's hand shoots out and fastens around his wrist.  
  
"Ooh, sorry, I forgot." Party holds out his wrists. "Go on, arrest me. I deserve it."  
  
"I was never going to," Korse hisses.  
  
Party smiles, just a hint of a smirk. He doesn't say "I know." He does tilt his head and look Korse up and down. "So when are we doing this again? Or are we back to the chasing and shooting thing now?"  
  
Korse doesn't even bother pretending he's debating it; it feels too much like lying to himself. "Two weeks. Zone 4, the warehouse. If I see you before then, I'm still shooting."  
  
"Sure you are, all in my eyelashes and down my nose, right?" Party grins; withdraws from Korse's grip and skips back a few steps.  
  
"You should be so lucky," Korse retorts.  
  
"Oh, I already am," Party rubs his stomach obnoxiously as he walks backward, then he salutes as he disappears around the corner. "See you in 4!"  
  
Korse doesn't attempt to pursue him, though his muscles twitch as he forces himself to wait. When he eventually hears the growl of the Trans Am, he starts toward his own. He still feels shaky and unsure; fulfilled and yet more hungry than ever. He's not used to feeling any of those things.  
  
*  
  
"I did something bad," Party announces when he shoulders into the gas station, stinking like sun and sand.  
  
"So what's new?" Ghoul grumbles, handing Jet a screwdriver for the radio he's fiddling with. He scowls when Party sidles up in front of him, putting his hands on his hips and grinning.   
  
"It's really bad."  
  
"Just ask him what he did or he won't shut up," Kobra complains.   
  
"He never shuts up anyway," Jet points out. Party kicks Ghoul's boot a few times until he kicks back.  
  
"Stop it, you dayglo motherfucker, just tell me what it is."  
  
"I fucked the Robocop," Party declares to the room.  
  
Without looking up, Kobra throws an empty Powerpup tin at his head. "Fuck off you did."  
  
Party doubles down. "I did," he insists, "and I'm gonna do it again."  
  
"You're fucking touched," Ghoul spits.  
  
"Yeah I was." He makes a show of inspecting himself. "Shit, I'll have to ask for bruises next time."  
  
"Fucking- Party!" Ghoul stands up, and Party gives him his undivided attention, if only because he knows that when Ghoul calls him 'fucking Party', he has some feelings he wants to sick up.  
  
"Fuckin' Ghoul?"  
  
"I'd ask if you were insane, but -"   
  
"But you know the answer," Party prompts helpfully. He's an active listener. Ghoul glowers. "Come on," Party continues, "don't give me that fraternization shit, we do what we have to, right? I don't mind sucking a little metal if it means it makes it harder for him to kill us, and I also don't fucking mind that he's a stone-cold fox."  
  
Ghoul shakes his head. "I just can't believe that fuckin' worked on...him."  
  
"I don't even know it did," Party shrugs, "he seemed pretty conflicted for a dude with no feelings. He did kiss me though so- that's. It's okay, right?"  
  
"Okay? Are you fuckin' -"  
  
"Party," Jet interrupts suddenly. His silence is so characteristic that Party takes a moment looking around as if he's not sure if it was really him. "Did you like- use anything?"  
  
"The fuck," Party says.  
  
Well it wouldn't be that farfetched to say BL studies behavioral patterns. What if he trapped you and now you're gonna die of a killer STD strain or flesh-eating nano bots or something?" Jet is perfectly serious.  
  
"The actual fuck." Now Ghoul is staring too, shaking his head.   
  
Party looks at Kobra, who hasn't said anything yet. Kobra shrugs. "We all die sometime."  
  
"Not of nano bots," Party complains.  
  
Ghoul kicks him this time. "Don't listen to that shit."  
  
"Korse isn't a good enough actor to pull that off," Party says dubiously.  
  
"Calling him by name now?" Ghoul snipes.  
  
"Better than 'Daddy'," Kobra quips. Party flips him off, and Kobra makes to throw another empty can at him.  
  
"Look, make fun all you want, but when we're uncatchable because good old Party Poison took one for the team, you'll be thanking me." He slinks away into the kitchen to scrounge some food before their lack of appreciation brings him any farther down off his high.  
  
He thinks about meeting Korse again; how he'd grabbed his wrist and stared into his head. He wonders if he'll make the rendezvous in Four. What he can do to get his attention in the meantime.


	2. Chapter 2

In the following weeks, there's a rash of Drac murders in the outside zones. Half a dozen patrols either completely wiped out, or limping back in pieces. Korse just grits his teeth and files the reports. He knows what's going on. He mops it up; endures her brow beating. She can't actually blame this on him because there's no way to tie the Killjoy crew to most of it. But he knows. And so does she.  
  
Korse finds it difficult to care about much other than the warehouse in Zone Four, and it makes him want to hit things. Waiting for the day to roll around is enough to make him skittish at best, belligerent at worst. He considers asking for readjustment at least three times.  
  
He doesn't, though, just waits until the horizon is flat and featureless, and the sky is white with heat. It's a long drive to Four. He has to pack plenty of supplies. He packs extra. Party Poison will be thirsty.   
  
It's ridiculous that he's thinking of the comfort of a criminal. It makes it easier though, to forge a relationship between Party's nihilism and his humanity. At least one of them has some humanity left. He grimaces at the thought and floors the gas. If he drives fast enough, he can avoid his car being spotted by any other desert rats on his way through Two and Three.  
  
He doesn't see a single soul before he pulls up to the warehouse. A garage door around back is open, the Trans Am glinting faintly inside. Korse pulls in close beside it. Party isn't inside, but warmth shimmering off the grill shows it's not long since he arrived.  
  
He stops to pull down the garage door, and checks to make sure his holster is unsnapped. His gun is quiet and heavy against his hip. He hopes he doesn't need it. He can hear Party somewhere inside, humming and shifting boxes.  
  
He's blinding when Korse sees him, crimson and pale and dusty, muscles straining as he digs through the remnants of the place. His teeth too, small and even and gleaming white in a snarling smile. He's got the remnants of a black eye, too. "Hey," he says when he sees him. The casual greeting sounds strange to Korse but suits Party to the ground. "I forgot about this stash, y'r gonna have to wait." He waggles his eyebrows. "Or help me."  
  
"What are you stealing this time?"   
  
"Looting," Party corrects, hands on hips. "Like this place still has an owner." Korse rolls his eyes and waits for a response that isn't sass. Party sighs. "Hand tools, hardware, wire. Sells for a premium."  
  
"What, you actually sell something other than sex? I'm surprised you'd need to."   
  
"I hear the sarcasm there, but I don't hear any lies." Party raises a brow and when Korse doesn't comment, hands him a box. "I sell anything that isn't nailed down. Some of it just costs more."  
  
"Which is pricier then, by your policy?"  
  
"Supply and demand," Party hums, skirting closer to Korse, within arm's reach, licking his lips. Korse catches him by the wrist, that familiar motion, and tugs him in.   
  
"Whose demand?"  
  
"Whoever has the best offer. Cash or trade."  
  
"And what's this, a trade?"  
  
Party meets his eyes deliberately. "You tell me. What's on the table?"  
  
"Tell me what you want. We'll negotiate."  
  
Party winces when Korse drops the box in his other arm with a clank onto the nearby counter. Korse smiles. It's not a nice expression. "I don't want anything," Party mutters, "just to live."  
  
"Doesn't it matter where? Or how? That's not very specific," Korse purrs.  
  
Party stares at him, expression muted, then he breaks into a shit eating grin. "You're cute when you're trying to intimidate me," he praises, voice fond.  
  
"Cute," Korse repeats, oozing distaste.  
  
"As a button. Look," he says, voice turning hard, "all I care about is keeping my guys out of Bat City. You see us show our faces there, you can assume our agreement's off, got it?"  
  
"And if you do something that warrants retribution?" Korse raises an eyebrow. "You've stolen, killed and sabotaged more than enough to invalidate your claims of pacifism, Party, a blow job hardly changes that."  
  
"What kind of retribution interests you, Head Exterminator?" Party hedges.  
  
"Depends on the crime," Korse replies, voice quiet and low.  
  
"Well, I'm asking." Korse looks thoughtful, an unusually calm expression. It's terrifying. Party tenses, staring at his face.  
  
"You don't interfere with BLI. You don't interfere with raids or Drac patrols. You do whatever else you need to survive, but you stay away from mine and we'll stay away from yours- and only yours," Korse mutters, "agreed?"  
  
"What if I don't? What if I can't?"  
  
"Then the deal won't be mutually beneficial anymore, and I will arrest you and shoot your friends." There's no trace of intimidation tactics in Korse's face, just clarity.  
  
Party crosses his arms over his chest. "Suddenly I'm getting the raw deal here, what's up with that?"   
  
"Are you?" Korse murmurs.  
  
"Seems a little like I am."  
  
"You get the Crows and the Dracs off your back, provided you stay out of our way. And you get me," Korse replies flatly.  
  
"Gosh, what an honor. What do you get?"  
  
Korse grabs him by the front of the shirt and hauls him closer. "What do I get?"  
  
"What do you want?" Party feels himself grinning despite himself.  
  
"You'll need to be pretty fucking good."  
  
"Sugar, I'm perfect," Party purrs.  
  
The knot of lust in Korse's chest twists tighter. "Prove it."

Grinning wider, Party leans up and closes the space between their lips. He kisses dirty this time, intent on one thing. He'll make sure he's the only thing Korse can think about. He bites into the flesh of his lip, groaning at Korse's lurch; the rough grab at his jaw with both hands. He might've drawn blood with that one, or it might be from his own chapped lips. He just kisses harder, pushing into Korse's grip instead of away. His knuckles knot into Party's hair and he groans, tongue pushing deep into the heat of his mouth.  
  
Party's hands slide between them, pushing between their bodies to find the gaps in his clothing. He needs skin. It's no easy task; Korse is several layers of coat, waist coat, braces and shirt. He whines in protest against his mouth, tugging at the buttons of his waistcoat urgently.  
  
"Why do you dress like this, anyway?" he complains.  
  
"I could ask you the same question," Korse mutters.  
  
"You like the way I dress," Party grins. "Everybody does."  
  
"I didn't say I didn't. I hope you have another shirt," he continues, "because that one is begging to be ripped off."  
  
"I'll fucking beg you if it'll help." Party holds his arms up.  
  
Korse fists a hand in the cotton. "It might."  
  
"Rip it," Party pleads, "make my fucking day, please." Korse yanks hard and the cotton shreds. Party grins. "That felt good, right?"  
  
A flash of satisfaction in Korse's dark eyes. "You have no idea."  
  
"So do it again," Party says breathlessly. He's lean and scarred, eyes blazing, "fuck me up."  
  
"That's not the first time you've asked me that," Korse murmurs, shoving the shreds of cotton off Party's shoulders.  
  
"Because I want you to," Arching into his hands as though magnetized, he presses close; bites at his jaw slowly, shivering at the proximity. "You'd better fuck me this time. I ain't leaving here without it."   
  
Korse's hands clench, at the teeth or the words. Or both. "You're in a precarious position to be demanding things, Party," he breathes, then kisses him as he feels deft fingers making short work of buttons and buckles.  
  
"I always demand things," Party gasps, wrenching Korse's trousers open and sliding a hand inside.

The groan that escapes him is telling, his fingers tightening roughly in Party's hair.  
  
"Let's get these things off," Party says brightly, pushing at Korse's unbuttoned layers. For lack of any reason to protest, Korse helps him, stripping his upper layers quickly. Party seems fascinated by his body, running his fingers all over his exposed chest and arms. "You got more scars than me," he says, with some surprise.  
  
"You and your boys aren't my first drive around the block," Korse says wryly.  
  
"I like them," Party says, grinning crookedly. "I'm glad. I wanna give you more." Korse bares his teeth again. Party drags him down for a kiss. "What, you don't like that?"  
  
"It's not the order I prefer things..." Korse murmurs. Party grins again.  
  
"I like it both ways."  
  
"Of course you do." Korse groans when Party turns his attention back to his trousers.  
  
"Have I told you yet how much I like what you're packing?" he teases.  
  
"I don't think you did yet." He lets out a quiet groan as Party palms his cock roughly through cotton.  
  
"Oh, but I do. I'm impressed." Party bites his lip and grins. "Turned on, too. If you know what you're doing, maybe I do have the good end of this deal."  
  
"I'm not too concerned about satisfying a man who came in his own jeans just from having my cock in his mouth," Korse answers sharply, breaths a little unsteady even so.  
  
Party squeezes a little too hard. "That's not nice, Korse. Think that happens with everybody?" He gets a hard yank on his hair for the trouble but holds fast, raising his eyebrows.  
  
"Does it? Or am I special?" Korse hisses.  
  
"You're so fuckin' special," Party breathes, not entirely kindly.  
  
"Am I? Tell me, what really did it, sucking me off or getting slapped across your dirty, pretty little face?"  
  
Party stares at him, starting to pant softly now. "Both- both," he says quickly, "but- but what I really liked was when I couldn't breathe because you were fucking my face so deep."  
  
Korse stares back, then slowly moves his hand from Party's hair to his neck. "Really."  
  
"Fuck- yeah-" Party grins. Korse can feel his voice vibrate against his palm. "But- I really liked the slapping, too," Party confesses.  
  
Korse smirks. "Because you know you're nothing more than a bad little boy."  
  
"Oh yeah, that's it, unresolved daddy issues," Party snarks.  
  
"Whatever works," Korse shrugs, jerking him closer with a hand tucked in the waistband of his jeans.  
  
"Fuck you." Party is still, his own hand still trapped between them, breaths a little unsteady at Korse's grip on his throat.  
  
Korse pops the button on his jeans. "I thought that was the idea."  
  
"Yeah, you gonna stop talking long enough to show me what you got?"  
  
"I am not the one who -" Korse scowls and jerks his jeans down around his thighs.  
  
Party lurches but grins. "What?"  
  
"Never. Stops. Talking." Korse closes his hands over Party's hips and tugs him close, hands curving down around his ass.  
  
"I did that one time," Party counters, arching against him slowly, teeth catching his lower lip with a soft whine. Korse leans down and bites it himself. He pulls Party flush against his hips, grinning a little at the soft groan he gives.  
  
Party twitches his hips, rubbing their cocks together. "Let's get to the next part."  
  
Korse looks around for some kind of flat surface, but at this point, he is not above fucking Party on the floor.  
  
"There's a couch in the office, if you're not too impatient to walk over there," Party murmurs. Smug little shit. Korse considers making him put his fucking nose on the concrete just for the tone of his voice, but he's not sure a flea-bitten couch isn't preferable to raw knees, even if he would get to shove Party's face into the floor while he fucked him.  
  
"Fine. Show me." He picks up his clothing and trails a sauntering Party toward an open door. He wrinkles his nose, then moves to the dusty couch and sits down, shoving his slacks and boxers down around his thighs. As he works on slipping them over his boots, Party curls up next to him and noses into his lap. "No," Korse says abruptly, "not yet. Take down your jeans and come stand here."  
  
"Why," Party whines, curling back into himself.  
  
"Do as you're told."  
  
Party's mouth droops open, working soundlessly for a moment. A flush colors both cheeks.  
  
"Do as I fucking say," Korse repeats, meeting his gaze, "or do I have to slap you again? I see the answer to that is yes."  
  
Party is still staring a bit, caught between want and uncertainty; intrigue and mistrust. Korse's hand catches him below the cheekbone, leaving a small red mark but mostly sound. He jars, cheek turned by it, then tips his chin up stubbornly, a grin threatening the corner of his mouth.  
  
"That was almost sweet, K," he hums. He gasps when Korse grabs his hair, wrenching him in close non-too-gently.  
  
"Do as you're told, Poison," Korse murmurs, "or I will make you."  
  
He pants open-mouthed, licking dry lips. When Korse drops him he barely catches himself, then scrambles to push his jeans around his ankles.  
  
"Now come and stand in front of me, here." He waits until Party can arrange himself in the correct spot before meeting his eyes. He reaches out for his hips, leaning forward on the edge of the couch to brush his nose against the flat of his stomach, breath hot over his hips. Party's stomach muscles jump under the contact. "Scared?" Korse mutters, lips buzzing against his skin.  
  
"Nah," Party breathes.  
  
Korse tuts, softly, and bites into the jut of his hip. His cock jumps too, flushed hard and ready. Korse bites him again, lighter graze of teeth, and then takes the head of his cock into his mouth. Party makes the most incredible wounded noise. Korse has to check, but his expression is pained but blissful.  
  
He sucks harder; sees Party's hands flutter and sighs out through his nose. He tastes... Incredible. He looks and sounds that way, too, and all of a sudden Korse cannot imagine not knowing this about him. It makes him dig his fingers harder into the meat of his hips; pull him in closer. Party yelps in surprise and Korse all out shudders.  
  
Party's fingers smooth over his skull, cool and gentle with a small tremor. He's panting loud and ragged, leaning back on the axis of his hips. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," he chants, a blurred litany.  
  
Korse wraps a hand around the base and squeezes, pulling off to look up at him. "Needy, aren't we?" he murmurs.  
  
Jaw slack, teeth bared, Party just nods. His hands touch delicately at Korse's shoulders, the nape of his neck. "Mmyeah-- don't stop-" Korse gives him a few rough strokes with just his hand. Party arches and tips his head back, hissing breaths through his teeth. "Fuck-!" He sways, tightening his fingers on Korse's shoulder.  
  
"You really -are- easy," Korse comments, not without amusement.  
  
"Why not? Everything else is hard," Party murmurs distractedly.  
  
Korse watches him with plain, undisguised hunger, fingers just working steady and slick. He pauses to circle his thumb slowly over the head of Party's cock, biting his lip at the high, stuttering gasp he gives. "Want to come, Poison?" he asks.  
  
"Yeah- yeah- fuck-" he nods hard, "wanna fuck though- please-" He looks pleadingly at Korse and adds, "I've got- I got stuff. Come on- please, I want you to fuck me, please..."  
  
"Get it," Korse orders, standing up. Party smirks and bends down to dig in the pocket of his jeans. He slaps the tube into Korse's palm, shivering a little. "On the couch, hands and knees." The orders are still short, but Korse's voice smoother, confident.  
  
Party bites his lip, like he's considering disobeying, then he complies. Korse takes a moment to look at him, and another to touch.  
  
Party shivers, peering back at him. "I can't tell what you're thinking."  
  
"Wondering how many immunizations I'll need after this."  
  
"Harsh," Party complains. Korse meets his gaze, and he thinks he sees the hint of a smile. "Come on, Robocop," Party taunts gently. He yelps when Korse bites the flesh of his hip in retribution. He hears the snap of the tube lid and braces himself.  
  
His fingers come quick and without hesitation. Korse pushes in with two, cool and slick, and Party feels his sharp exhale against his back when he arches.  
  
"Fuck- Korse-"  
  
"That's the plan," he murmurs. He works his fingers deeper, watching Party's body move; the freckled expanse of his shoulders and the dip of his spine. He pushes back into each stroke, making greedy little noises. "You want more?" Korse mutters.  
  
"Mmyeah," he groans. "Your hands, fuck."  
  
"My hands?" Smile tugging faintly at the corner of his mouth, Korse shifts closer on his knees, leaning close against Party's back. As he pushes a third finger inside him, he curls his other palm against Party's throat loosely. "What about my hands?"  
  
"They're gorgeous," Party says, pressing into the grip on his throat.  
  
Korse starts to fuck him in earnest with his fingers, deep strokes that make him groan and tense. "I see."  
  
"They're so...fucking rough," he rasps. "More."  
  
"More?" Korse exhales sharply against his shoulder. "how much more?"  
  
"Just more," Party repeats. "Fuck me!"  
  
"Always demanding," Korse needles. Partially out of spite, he tightens the grip on his throat again; presses his pinky in alongside his other fingers and strokes deep. When he crooks his fingers, Party yells and his hips kick.  
  
"Fuck fuck fuck- yes- harder-!"  
  
Korse twists his hand, biting into the curve of his shoulder. He can feel him panting, crying out, shoving back desperately onto his fingers. He bites again; fucks his fingers in deeper still and groans when Party makes a sound like he's been kicked.  
  
"Fuck you, Korse, stop stalling," Party groans.  
  
He huffs a soft laugh; extracts his fingers sharply and sits up, wiping slick fingers off on Party's filthy jeans. "Fine." He pours lube into his palm, takes his time spreading it over his cock. Party, peeking over his shoulder, groans again.  
  
"Fuck, next time I just wanna watch you do that for an hour."  
  
Korse snorts. "Waste of time."  
  
"Not for me," Party whines when Korse shifts close, the slick head of his cock pressing against his skin, "come on..."  
  
Korse grabs tight to his hips and thrusts in with one snap of his hips. He can't see Party's face, but the noise he makes puts the moment Korse took his cock into his mouth to shame.  
  
"Yeah," he groans in approval. "Fuck, s'so good, more..." Korse bends down to bite the back of his neck, thrusting slow and steady. Party tips his head, hands bracing against the arm of the couch as he pushes back into his movements, cock aching with every slide. "Oh- yeah-"  
  
"I was expecting you'd want it rough," Korse murmurs with another bite. "I was waiting for the complaints."  
  
"I was about to issue some; I'm glad we're on the same page." Party's voice catches on a moan. He arches closer. Korse sinks a hand into his fringe and tugs him back, thrusting harder. Party lets out another cry, like he can't believe it, like he never felt anything like it. He reaches back and grabs weakly for Korse's thigh. "Fu-uck-!"  
  
"Such noise," Korse laughs. "Do it again."  
  
He does, over and over, knuckles white in the cracked leather of the couch, eyes tight shut against Korse's hold in his hair. Korse alternates between biting his neck and shoulders and whispering in his ear, filthy, awful things. Party aches more with every word. He begs Korse to touch him, when he can catch his breath.  
  
"Mmm, I don't know, I'm curious to see if you can come just from this; just from having my cock inside you," Korse breathes, "you did last time..." He nips at Party's ear. "Does it ache, like this?"  
  
Party gulps a breath and nods, biting his lip, "yeah. S'fucking perfect."  
  
"Keep moaning. I want to hear you sound like the little slut you are."  
  
Party does moan at that, soft and needy, before he speaks again. "I can't- believe how fucking big you are- you feel fucking amazing--"  
  
"And here I thought I'd have to put my whole fist inside you to satisfy you."  
  
Party groans again. "Fuck, you can do that..."  
  
"Better save something for next time," Korse murmurs, snapping his hips harder.  
  
"Fuck, promise me there's a next time- I'll- there's a next time right?" Party pleads, his arm buckling a little under the force.  
  
"I'll be having this again, unless you can't keep your word, Party. I really hope you can."  
  
"Noo yeah, I'm reformed, promise," Party huffs, laughter on the edge of his voice.  
  
Korse tugs harder on his hair, pulls his head around for a messy kiss. He's fucking him harder now, trying to get him to stop running his mouth, long, rough shots of his hips that knock the breath out of Party. His moans vibrate between their mouths.  
  
"Fuck- I'm- Korse-" Party starts, voice pleading, "touch me-"  
  
"Tell me what you'll do if I say yes," he murmurs.  
  
"I'll give you what you want," Party says softly, voice a hum.  
  
"What do you think I want?" Korse asks him through clenched teeth, hips thrusting rougher.  
  
"Mm, not sure yet, but I'll find out."  
  
"Better hurry," Korse says, closing one hand around his cock.  
  
Party gasps, a shocked, grateful sound. So close. "Is it me?" he hedges, voice ragged. "It's me, isn't it."  
  
Korse doesn't answer right away, but he twists his wrist. Party cries out weakly, mouth a slack grin around the sound. Korse echoes it faintly as Party clenches around him. He strokes him faster as he hears Party start to come with a choked moan, gasping at the feeling.  
  
Party tosses his head back, arching into Korse's chest and shaking with each pulse. He's still clutching with that one hand, nails cutting into the meat of Korse's thigh. As he starts to come down, he whines, turning his cheek to press his mouth to Korse's messily. Korse grunts and takes hold of his hips, thrusting fast and rough.  
  
Party is still keening against his mouth, holding steady for him, eyes shut and expression dazed. Korse growls softly as he feels his own gut clench.  
  
"Fuck- Korse, please... Give it to me, wanna feel it." Party is panting again like he never came, over sensitized and, unsurprisingly, sounding like he enjoys it.  
  
"You're fucking greedy, Party," Korse hisses, but Party just gasps and clenches again like nothing turns him on more than knowing Korse thinks that of him. He's so close he can't even be furious, just shoving Party's face into the couch arm and biting hard into his shoulder as he comes inside him, hard and long and overwhelmingly real. He feels Party's groan vibrate through both their chests. His own echoes it.  
  
When it passes, he can't even make himself pull away, barely relaxing his grip enough for Party to lift his chin; sprawl on the couch and pant. Party sprawls under him, boneless. "There's a joke in there somewhere about the second coming," he drawls.  
  
"Don't try to find it," Korse retorts, breath ruffling Party's hair. He smiles slightly at Party's nasal, mosquito-y laugh. Even his fucking giggles are dirty.  
  
It takes them both a long moment to peel themselves apart. Party doesn't seem all that fussed about moving off the disgusting couch, just pulling his jeans up but not buttoning them yet. He watches Korse, eyes searching.  
  
"Well?" he drawls.  
  
"Well what?"  
  
"Worth the short end of the stick you insist you drew in our agreement?" Korse asks, buttoning and zipping his own trousers.  
  
A slow grin spreads across Party's face. "Almost."  
  
Despite knowing better, Korse feels a lick of annoyance. Party is rubbing the tip of his tongue against a canine, watching him like he fucking knows. Korse plucks his shirt from a tangle of clothing, slips it on and buttons it. He won't give him the satisfaction.  
  
He's practically ready to leave before he feels Party's arms slip around his waist and his warmth against his back. He stiffens automatically. "When will I see you again?" Breath ghosts warm against his ear. Korse forgets sometimes how silent he can be.  
  
Now he has to do the math. How badly he wants this versus how noticeable it will be if he disappears as frequently as he wants to. "I don't know. I need some time."  
  
A small sigh, one that he hears despite the attempt to cover it with a laugh. "Hopefully not too much."  
  
"It's- to be safe," Korse murmurs, looking at Party reluctantly.  
  
"You're always safe," Party complains.  
  
"I know," Korse replies, staring at him until the meaning sinks in. He scoffs, but only slightly, then looks down. It quickly turns into a smile.  
  
"Guess I was right about what you want, then."  
  
"Guess you were," Korse says lightly, settling his blaster back in its holster.  
  
"So you're going..." Party says, failing to make it sound less like a question.  
  
"If I don't check in at the expected times, I get more...attention paid," Korse murmurs.  
  
Party nods in understanding, failing to hide his slight disappointment. "When. Um. How long until -" He isn't pretending to be reluctant either.  
  
"I'm not sure," Korse says softly.  
  
Party bites his lip, turns it into a smirk. "Guess I'll just have to get your attention somehow."  
  
"But not in any way that breaches our agreement," Korse reminds him.  
  
"I can be creative," Party purrs.  
  
"I look forward to it."  
  
Party slinks closer and grabs his lapels. The kiss he gives Korse is about as dirty as he expects it to be. When they break apart, they're both a little breathless. "Wait twenty minutes or so after I go before you leave," Korse says quietly.  
  
Party shrugs. "Gotta finish filling my trunk anyway." He watches him right himself one last time, then head for the door. He hears the engine of the sleek black car a moment later.


	3. Chapter 3

It doesn't take longer than a half hour to load the car, and soon Party is shooting out into the gathering dark himself. He's edgy, but he doesn't meet more than the expected patrols. He's back at the gas station within a few hours, feeling a little heavier than he thought he would, considering. Party is usually a pretty good judge of what's gonna be a good time and what's gonna fuck his head. Sometimes he does it anyway, but he's not usually surprised. This, he's not sure about.  
  
He lets himself in through the back and looks around. The bikes are gone, so he knows at least two of them are, too.  
  
"Hello?" Wandering further into the gas station, he picks up a hammer from Jet's tools, more out of comfort than suspicion.  
  
"Still alive, huh," Ghoul answers from one of the side rooms.  
  
"Just about. Might have ruptured something internally, mind." Dropping the hammer, Party follows Ghoul's voice, trying not to smile at the sight of him. He's covered in cobwebs, sifting through a pile of vinyl’s.  
  
"You're disgusting," he grouses.  
  
"You love it."  
  
"Someone certainly does."  
  
"You do," Party says, dropping down next to him and nuzzling into his neck.  
  
"Don't want your sloppy seconds, Party," he grumbles, but he doesn't push him away.  
  
"That's not what you said the last hundred times." Party sighs and lets his face press against Ghoul's neck. "Where'd they go?"  
  
"The Doc called. Some kind of delivery needed picking up." He looks at Party; reaches out and ruffles his hair. He looks... Tired.  
  
"Y'okay, Ghoul?" Party asks.  
  
"Peachy keen." He gives him that grin, the one Party likes best. It's the one that looks as unhinged as Party feels.  
  
He leans in and nudges Ghoul again, murmuring. "You mad at me?"  
  
"Fuck yes," Ghoul replies, but with little heat behind it.  
  
"Too mad to let me make it better?" Party purrs.  
  
"Haven't you had enough yet?" Ghoul asks.  
  
Party touches his shoulder, fingers trailing over skin. His eyes cast down. "I... Yeah, sorry."  
  
"Better make it up to me," Ghoul replies. He leans into the touch.  
  
Party brushes their noses together, mumbling, "I- I'm just trying to make sure we're safe, Ghoul. You know that right? You guys have got smarts and moves and- I've got this. Y'know?"  
  
"You're our fearless leader," Ghoul says, but he presses their foreheads together. "Wanna help me pick records for Doc?"  
  
Party hums, smiling. He tips his chin; trails the scar across Ghoul's cheek with his tongue. "Got anything for me?" he whispers.  
  
"'You Give Love a Bad Name'?" Ghoul hazards.  
  
Party cracks out a laugh. "Fuck yes." He flips over another record, holding up the battered vinyl. "This one's more you though, I think. Hopeless Romantic."  
  
Ghoul snorts, but doesn't argue. He and Party are tangled close, their legs folded together where they're sat on the dirty floor. He lets Party paw at his hands gently, taking one in his own.  
  
Party finds the ink he's looking for, and kisses Ghoul's scraped knuckles. "You're a shithead," Ghoul says weakly.  
  
"One hundred percent Grade-A," Party agrees, nuzzling him again. Ghoul doesn't usually hold still for it, so he has to take advantage.  
  
"24-carat shithead. That's you." Ghoul shivers a bit, wrinkling his nose when Party shifts minutely to get into his lap; rubs his face into the crook of his neck. "Thought you said you were too tired," he snipes.  
  
"I didn't, I said I'd had enough, but that doesn't mean I didn't want more- I just thought you'd shout at me." Party pouts; touches at Ghoul's hair. "And- I don't... If you don't want to it's- it's fine, I was just. Wanted to be close."  
  
"I might still shout at you," Ghoul says sourly.  
  
"I can take it." He noses at him again, practically a head butt by normal standards. Ghoul kisses him this time.  
  
Party loops an arm around his neck, humming against his mouth. "That's more like it," he murmurs.  
  
"You're a slut and a creep," Ghoul complains; it doesn't sound much like an insult, though.  
  
"You like me exactly how I am," Party replies.  
  
"Maybe marginally less slutty," Ghoul corrects gently, "just a little."  
  
"I might be too busy from now on," Party shrugs. He kisses the corner of Ghoul's frown.  
  
"Too busy to be less slutty? Too busy being slutty?" He lets him, tipping his cheek into it.  
  
Too busy chasing Korse around. Ghoul doesn't want to hear about it. Party doesn't even answer, just kissing him again steadily. He feels when Ghoul takes a breath and relaxes into the familiar, smooths a hand into his greasy hair and hums, kissing him deeper. He loves his guys. He loves this one like this. Ghoul's always up for it, too, complaining aside. "You're my favorite ghost, y'know," he mumbles.  
  
"I know," Ghoul says.  
  
"Always will be."  
  
"I know," Ghoul replies, after a moment. Party kisses his chin, the soft skin of his neck.  
  
He sighs and tousles fingers into crimson hair, closing his eyes. Things don't work the way they used to, with love and sex, but he wishes they did sometimes. Good thing he has the word "hopeless" carved into his skin. He won't forget it, that way.  
  
"Stop sending me sad vibes," Party mumbles, pushing him onto his back so he can sit on his hips and bury his face in his neck.  
  
"S'what I got," Ghoul says.   
  
Party practically purrs when he gets his hands in Party's hair, though. Shaking his head, Party kisses down his throat, fingers working under the hem of his tee as he mumbles against his skin, “No, you got me... And I'm a party, aren't I?"  
  
Ghoul whines as soon as Party's fingers skate over his ribs. "You're an asshole," he mumbles, arching when Party's lips brush his sternum, fingers rolling his shirt up under his arms.  
  
He's so pretty. Party is a greedy motherfucker, he knows this, but he can't stop. Doesn't want to. He bites gently at Ghoul's nipple; drags down over the jut of his ribs. Ghoul just sighs, arches and gives up every pleased whimper Party could ask for. He looks up at him as he starts to untie the knot on his cargo pants, eyes bright. "You want me to?"  
  
Ghoul nods once, then again quickly. "I - yeah," he groans.  
  
"Are you sure?" Party is grinning now, working Ghoul's pants down around his thighs, humming as he hooks his thumbs into the chewed-up elastic of his boxers.  
  
"Do I look sure?" Ghoul replies.  
  
"Mmm, pretty sure," Party says.  
  
"It's all your fault," Ghoul tells him.  
  
"I accept full responsibility." Party is folding down his boxers, covering the skin he reveals with his mouth. Ghoul's hips twitch. He's hard already, but not making any demands. He doesn't need to; Party knows what he likes. Ghoul is as easy as Party is, honestly. He doesn't fight it at all, even when he's pissed. When Party takes him into his mouth, he just sighs and tugs gently at his hair.  
  
He'll have to see if Ghoul is still pissed after he comes, because he's got a nice fucking mouth himself. Maybe that's pushing it, but, well. He always does.  
  
"Fuck, you skip dinner or something?" Ghoul mumbles breathlessly, watching him. "You're fuckin' going at it."  
  
He didn't get to suck cock today, and it fucking turns his crank. He's not gonna point that out though. Instead he just huffs a laugh; keeps it up, pleased when Ghoul yanks on his hair again.  
  
He loves the way Ghoul moans his name when he takes him into his throat. He's arching his hips now, a little less doll-like than he was before. Party's glad.  
  
"You're so filthy," Ghoul gasps. When Party responds by swallowing around his cock, Ghoul slaps his hands over his eyes and groans. His hips kick up several times in an automatic rhythm.  
  
Party clings to his hips and whines. He pulls off. "If you wanna..."  
  
"Seriously, you already had it once today and you want me to fuck you?" Ghoul closes one eye, nose wrinkled, but even incredulous, he doesn't sound as mad now.  
  
"Only if you want," Party says, biting his lip and looking up at Ghoul.  
  
"You're such a fuckin' slut, Party," Ghoul sounds reluctantly impressed.  
  
"Either you want it or you don't, Ghoul," Party frowns, stroking Ghoul with his hand a couple times. "I always want it, if that's slutty, fuck it."  
  
"Okay, Spirits, c'mere."   
  
Party grins and fumbles his jeans off, straddling Ghoul's hips.   
  
"Do I even need to fucking prep you?" Ghoul says, sounding once again quietly chastising. Party pauses, then shakes his head mutely. "Dirty fucker." Ghoul pulls him down by his hair to kiss him hard, grabbing his hips. Party lifts up onto his knees and lines up, sinks down with a grateful little moan.

Ghoul never turns him away, even when he moans and bitches about it, and Party doesn't know what he'd fucking do without him.  
  
"Yeah," Ghoul mumbles against his cheek, "go on, ride me."  
  
"Fuck-" he bites at his jaw weakly, starting to push his hips in long circles. Ghoul is still slick with spit and it feels just this side of enough, raw and oversensitive. "Oh, fuck--"  
  
"S'okay, Party," Ghoul breathes, petting down his back.  
  
"Mmhno, fuck," Party clings to him, hands splayed against Ghoul's jaw and throat as he fucks himself on his cock slowly, pressing their foreheads together.  
  
"You're gorgeous," Ghoul tells him between brief kisses. "Take what you want."  
  
"I just want you-" Party murmurs against his mouth, "that's- fuck, Ghoul, I just don't want to lose you-"  
  
"I ain't goin' away," Ghoul replies. "You fucker." It sounds fond.  
  
"You better not." Party kisses him now; shoves his hips down faster, trying to get Ghoul to stop sounding so fucking lazy, so fucking chill. He likes it when he sounds out of control. He doesn't want to be the only raw nerve around here. He shifts his weight and Ghoul gasps, grabs for his hips.  
  
"Party," he says weakly, tipping his chin up to catch his mouth in a kiss.  
  
Party sinks his hands in Ghoul's hair - so long these days, pretty when he bothers to wash it - and rocks their hips together. He feels Ghoul grab at his ribs; shove his t-shirt up under his arms to feel his skin, fingers pressing bruises into his flanks. He feels so good, overwhelming and intense and too much, and Party can't help but rock faster, groaning at the slide. Ghoul spits out a string of swears and grips him harder and yeah, that's what he wants.  
  
"You feel so fucking perfect," Party purrs against his ear, voice fractured, "I could fuck you until I died, Hells."  
  
"Don't fucking - die," Ghoul groans. "Just fuck - yeah, like that."  
  
"I'm not, I'm just saying, if I could pick a person to fuck forever-" he grins ruefully, snapping his hips down harder and gasping at how he lurches closer and closer to coming, "it would be you, baby."  
  
"Oh, shut up," Ghoul tells him, kissing him again until he moans, then rolling them over. With Party splayed beneath him, surprised and breathless and grinning, he feels a little less out of control. And alive, most of all. Warm and alive and safe, for the moment. He understands what Party is trying to do for him, for them, but it still feels scary. He noses under Party's jaw, kisses the soft skin of his throat, letting him feel teeth for a moment as he thrusts harder.  
  
"Ghoul," Party says, a plea and a warning and praise all in one. He wraps his legs around Ghoul's waist and holds tight. "Gods, I'm- fuck-"  
  
"Gonna come?" Ghoul gasps.  
  
"Fucking- you know I am-"  
  
"So do it," Ghoul closes a hand around him, the perfect grip. Party clings to him; gasps and trembles as Ghoul strokes him; fucks him. He can't ever get over how calm he is about taking him to pieces. Ghoul loves him, and that's how he shows it. He's the only person Party fucks who holds him after. Party is shaking uncontrollably now, so tense and close it hurts.  
  
Ghoul presses their cheeks together and keeps stroking him firmly. His breath breaks in Party's ear with each thrust. He twists his wrist; shivers when he feels Party clench and come with a cry. He presses his face to Party's neck and lets himself thrust fast and mindlessly while Party's still tight around him. Party kisses him as he comes; holds onto his shoulders and hums under the stall of his hips. He feels warm, wrung out and used, and Ghoul's weight and smell are familiar.

"Fuck," Ghoul breathes, staying close as he relaxes; kisses Party's dirty forehead.

"Mmhm," Party replies, lazily kissing his jaw. He loops his arms around his neck, sighs softly. "How long will the guys be?"

Ghoul shrugs. "Few hours, maybe overnight. Depends on the patrols."

"Just you and me until then?"

"What, sick of me already?" Ghoul jokes.

"I was going to suggest we slept, actually," Party says with a grin, "y'know. On the mattress."

Ghoul laughs. "Oh, good choice. For once."

"All my choices are good!"

Ghoul kisses his nose and pulls out, sitting up and straightening his clothing. "Keep telling yourself that."

"You'll see," Party mumbles. He stays where he is, feeling distinctly rumpled and not minding one bit. "Do we have anything to eat?"

"Some," Ghoul says. "I'll fix you something."

Party grins. He can't be mad at him anymore. 

Eventually he picks himself up; goes to the bathroom to clean himself up as best he can. The water is more clear than rusty for once, although he doesn't run it for more than a few seconds. Just enough to wet a cloth in; use it to get the worst of the grime off his skin. It still feels stupidly good. Putting on dirty clothes is going to suck. He has to fetch a new shirt, though. Ghoul hasn't commented on that - yet.

He heads back out to see if he can scavenge some jeans from Kobra's side of the gas station: the thought of putting his back on really isn't appealing. Ghoul sees him wandering around naked and rolls his eyes.

"Don't pretend you're not grateful," Party says dramatically.

"For what? The free show? I guess, but I just got laid, so you're doing things backwards. As usual."

"Unless we're going in a circle I guess in which case who knows what point we're at?" Party finds some of Kobra's jeans. He'll have to hop like a bitch to get into them but at least they're semi clean. He steals one of Jet's t-shirts: clothing is pretty communal at this point, and Jet’s stuff always smells infinitely less like armpit than Kobra’s. It's big on him and the neck is all stretched out, but he doesn't care. When he finishes squirming into the jeans, he goes up the counter to see what they have to eat.

"Rice," Ghoul says, a little apologetically.

Party shrugs. "Thanks." It's food. They don't have a lot of options. At least they have sauce for it.

They sit across from one another and eat. Party watches Ghoul shrewdly, unable to keep himself from smiling. He's a little pleased with himself; content and sighing with it. Hormones or something.

"Creepy," Ghoul mutters, shaking his head when he notices the staring.

"My love for you is not creepy, Ghoul, it's endearing and undeserved."

He snorts and scoops up another spoonful of rice. "You're so full of shit."

"Amongst other things," Party agrees, and he kicks him gently under the counter.

"Eating here, baby." He snorts when he sees Party redden at the pet name. "You are fucking twenty-seven and you still can't get over me calling you baby?"

Party can't help it. He calls everybody baby, sugar, honey, but he gets twitchy when it's Ghoul. Ghoul means things he says. Party means...not much. Maybe some of it. On a good day.

"You don't do it very often," he shrugs. Ghoul sighs and reaches over the bar to squeeze his wrist.

"Maybe it's because you act like this. S'alright, Party, just shake it off."

"I'm sorry," he mumbles. Ghoul knows he is. That's why he just gives him one more squeeze and another scoop of rice.

"Tastes a little less burnt today, you been practicing?" Party teases.

"Someone has to make sure you eat something that isn't shit in a can," Ghoul replies complacently.

"And it's you?" Party grins.

"Yeah, cause my life doesn't suck enough." Ghoul flips him off, but he's smiling.

"Fuck you," Party mumbles around another mouthful, but he's smiling.

When Ghoul wanders off to the workshop after cleaning up, he follows.

"Sleep, right?" He nuzzles at him.

"Didn't know you were serious." Ghoul promptly puts down the box of spare parts he's pawing through and heads for their - well, bedroom is a little too generous. It's a mattress in the corner with some paper screens. Party takes his hand and beams. 

"No, I wanna, we never get to share when Kobra's here."

"'Cause little brother has nightmares," Ghoul says, a little sourly. Kobra's basically everybody else's little brother too, so Party doesn't really take offense. 

"Jerk," he murmurs, just on principle.

Ghoul just shrugs. "Come on," he murmurs, pulling back the blankets. Party climbs in and plasters himself against Ghoul. It's starting to get cold outside and Ghoul is always warm.

"Hug me," he insists.

"Hug me back then, asshole," Ghoul murmurs, wrapping his arms around Party's shoulders. Party complies. He fucking loves this. This is both comfort and undivided attention. Until they fall asleep, anyway. Still counts.

"You do understand what I'm doing, don't you Ghoul?" He murmurs.

"Yeah," Ghoul whispers back. "I wish I didn't. But I do."

Party leans in; brushes their mouths together in a kiss. "Love you."

Ghoul sighs. "Love you more. Please shut up now." He is prepared for a huff, but not the tensing of shoulders that goes with it. "Party?"

He doesn't respond, eyes down and face closed in the gloom. Ghoul touches his cheek. "Stop it. What?"

"I know you don't believe me," Party mutters, "but I'm just trying to keep us safe. I wish you got that it can't always be guns and glory. Sometimes it's this, too."

"How's this any better than a gun to the head?" Ghoul asks.

"How is it not? If he gets off our backs, dracs leave us alone, we can just- we can sleep at night."

"He'll hurt you," Ghoul replies, looking into Party's eyes in the gloom. 

"Maybe I want him to," Party whispers.

"Why? Why would you want that?"

Party closes his eyes. Ghoul is never gonna understand. He pushes his forehead against Ghoul's. Ghoul just sighs again. Party keeps him close. 

"Please trust me."

"Till the end," Ghoul breathes against Party's neck. They fall asleep in uneasy silence, curled close in the dark.

*

Korse pulls into his space in the BLI garage and tosses his keys to a Drac so they can refill his gas tank. He'd pulled over before he went through the tunnel to top off the tank with a bit of his emergency gas. Just one way he likes to hide his tracks.

"She wants to see you," the Drac says, nodding upstairs. Korse nods, and when he's in the elevator, he huffs and closes his eyes. He's well aware that Bat City's many eyes are watching him now, so he restricts himself to that single sound of displeasure.

On the top floor, the doors glide open and he heads for her office, scattering interns and exterminators alike as he goes. She's standing next to her desk. He's never seen her actually sit at it.

“Chairwoman, how can I help you." His tone utilizes only an ounce of the politeness it should. She may not notice. They're not programmed for excessive politeness, after all, merely efficiency. Sometimes, though, she's a stickler. 

"I heard you got a tip on the fugitive."

"Staked out a suspected drop location. No sightings, but I found tire tracks that looked recent," he replies.

She raises an eyebrow; considers the words carefully. 

"This is the second time you've been too slow to catch him," she says archly.

He bites the side of his tongue. "Drac patrols might be tipping him off. We could readjust the schedule."

"Do it. Find whoever is making deals with him; terminate them." She looks out of one of the floor-to-ceiling windows, eyes dark. "What does he trade? If it's something we can track, it might make it easier to find them."

Korse hides a smirk. "What do they all trade? Power packs, food, spare parts."

"It's something else," she grits, cutting him sidelong eyes, "something they can't get here."

"I'll have one of the interns run a diagnostic," he says.

"Find him," she says, levelling him with her gaze. Petite as she is, she cuts an intimidating figure, angular and ruthless. Korse isn't worried, but he knows he should be. "I want him alive. I want to make an example of him, so they can see their precious rebel leader submit."

If only she knew. Korse nods, face serious. "I'll make him a priority, ma'am."

"Get out." 

She shows him her back until he leaves.

He walks quickly to his quarters. She may be on the warpath, but no one can deny him a few hours off-duty, and he wants a shower. Not that a shower will help with what he wants to wash off. He feels curiously unconcerned about his circumstances.

It's easy to write them all off as stupid, but the Chairwoman isn't. He can't forget that. She'll figure him out soon enough if he doesn't come up with something. He lets himself into his apartment and lets his face crease into a frown. He's not sure why he's bothering with this. He's not sure why Party is bothering, either. It seems much more effort than it's worth even by his dramatist standards. But it had been...satisfying, in ways Korse isn't used to. Nothing like visiting the droids he's used to seeing around the Lobby. It's been a long time since anyone has even looked at him with anything other than fear- let alone pursued him with intent. Flattery isn't in his emotional repertoire, but admiration is. It would be easy to go back on his word, of course. Less dangerous, certainly. Less interesting, though. Less gratifying, too.

He strips out of his dirty clothes and puts them in the laundry, heading for the bathroom. He needs a plan. For that, he needs to study the patrols. He'll pull them up on his tablet. No one will think anything of it. He calls it up while he runs water for a shave. He doesn't know where the Killjoys make their home base, but he can study the areas where he's met Party. Maybe if he can intersect their meeting points with other sightings, cross reference them with local landmarks... But what would he do with that information even if he had it, what good would it be to providing him with an alibi in how Party continues to evade him?

He pulls up a second map of abandoned buildings by zone and begins marking the proximity of patrols. He knows it'll be a pretty wide span if Party is careful, but he can be patient. He'll find it. If he's starting a second list of locations for future meetings, no one need know. Except possibly Party.

He closes his eyes. The boy is trash. A dirty desert rat, crude and loud. He should cut him loose and shoot him between the eyes. He can't, though. The Chairwoman wants him alive. As much as he hates agreeing with her... He does too.

Not here though. Not under some black and white mask, half vegetative with drugs, and that’s surely what she’d do to him; put him to work, try to redeem his years of bad behavior; show him he can be recycled just like the trash he is. He’d be up to his eyeballs in emotion inhibitors, anti-psychotics, behavioral meds. Korse shakes his head and picks up his razor. He can't remember why he'd thought it was a good idea to flush his own. 

He shaves and showers; tries not to think so much. Sleep is probably the best way to order it, but... He doesn't know how easy it will be. The pills always helped with that, too.

He moves through to his barely used bedroom and stands for a moment, contemplating the foreignness of it; a home he doesn't belong in. He thinks of Party Poison, essentially homeless but always seeming so comfortable. What would he do if he were here? He snorts at the thought. Fuck, fight, flee. He'd be a willing opponent for any of them. It's a bit disturbing. He can't help but smile at the thought though, wandering to his window to gaze out at the featureless horizon. Party wouldn't come to the city anyway. He hates it more than he misses it, Korse knows.

He grimaces at the nearby buildings and goes back to his tablet. He'll run diagnostics across the sightings and patrol routes and see what they come up with while he sleeps. He'll have to make sure he gives the task to an incompetent intern after he finishes. Shouldn't be hard.

Naked and clean, he climbs into bed. Despite his reluctance, he sleeps with relative ease. 

*

He wakes as usual, knowing he's had nightmares but not remembering. He heads to HQ; runs his errands, plants some ideas and alibis. Then, he gathers supplies to leave again. He wants to have more time in the Zones this time, even if he can't find Party and the rest of the Killjoys. He needs to figure out some way of communicating with him.

He starts combing Zone 1, using his map. It's unlikely Party and the Killjoys hide there, so close to the city, but there are plenty of people who do. If he can send word back to BLI of someone else on the wanted list, she'll be off his back for a while.

He mulls it over as he collects his car; heads out of the city through the tunnels and makes to scout out some of the routes he's plotted. He's just lucky he already has a reputation for scouting alone.

He uses it to his advantage over the next few days, picking up the odd sighting of other public enemies, catching a couple of Drac patrols toting around contraband, generally throwing enough daggers it looks like he's doing his job. All the while, he's searching.

So far, the only glimpse of Party he’s had has been in Zone 3, on fuzzy surveillance footage. Korse had watched as he and the gang had pulled up with a trailer outside one of the rave bars the Dracs frequently shut down, already buzzing with other rebels. In the trailer, there’d been piles of bags, opened by the boys to reveal cans, bags of pasta, rice, fruit. Toilet roll, toothpaste, painkillers. Korse hadn’t been able to tear his eyes from the screen as the goods were sorted into categories, rebagged into care packages, and then shared out amongst everyone. Party – in a red and blue haze on the monitor – had bent down and tucked a candy bar into a little boy’s pocket, looking like a neon angel.

Korse still doesn’t know how to sort his feelings about it all. He just knows he has to keep driving, and driving.

He makes it out to Zone Three before his luck changes. He can see smoke rising into the sky in the distance, big enough it must be a pyre of some kind. That's definitely worth a look. Even if it's not the killjoys, it'll be an arrest or sighting- but this is their usual stomping grounds, so he wouldn't be surprised. He makes sure his gun and spare power packs are within reach and winds his way toward the column of smoke.

What he finds is not exactly what he expected.

The flag of red hair clues him in before he even parks the car, but when Party gets up from his seat on a rock, his face is closed off.

"You don't wanna be here, Robocop, my boys are just around the bend and they're not too happy with you." Korse looks at the fire, though he could tell immediately from the stench that it's burning bodies.

"What happened?" He keeps from getting out of the car, but he does cut the engine.

“Tweaker's wife got picked up by a sweep and he went guano on the other people in his squat and then ran," Party says flatly. "This is as far as he got."

"And that's my fault how?" Korse raises an eyebrow.

"They're your white-suited little baddies, Head Exterminator. Everything they do is your fault. At least that's the way most runners are gonna look at it."

"Right, so I'm to assume the score of tit-for-tat kills that will no doubt blossom from this is you then, huh?" Korse huffs a breath. "Don't be dense, Party."

"I'm not in charge of every runner in the Zones," Party says. "Think I wanted to gun down poor Tweaker here?"

Korse fixes him with a look, then glances to the pyre. 

"I'm sorry for your loss." He wrinkles his nose. "We need to talk."

Party keeps glancing over his shoulder, all nerves. "There's an old motel a half-mile down the road. Give me an hour?"

“Done. No tricks, Party. Just conversation."

"Hopefully not just." Party winks. Korse shakes his head and peels out, driving off in the falling dusk. He's not sure a motel in an hour doesn't sound exactly like a trap, but he's got time to prepare. On arrival, he stashes his car behind an old shipping container and grabs a couple blasters, as well as a backpack of supplies. He feels like a fucking teenager skipping class to smoke dope under the bleachers. It's ridiculous. In a way, it makes him happy, though he's not sure he remembers the feeling. Mostly it makes him angry.

The motel is utterly deserted, devoid of life or evidence of the fact. It's been stripped of anything valuable, aside from the odd battered mattress; a chair or two. Korse negotiates the littered hallways with his gun held aloft, wondering why the hell Party would suggest they meet here.

At least the emptiness makes it easy to scan for possible ambush points. It's totally clean, if only figuratively. Korse finds himself in an abandoned guest room; sets his bag down on a beaten-up dresser and sits in the cold chair beside it, listening, waiting.

His wristwatch tells him that it won't be long, if Party is good on his word.


	4. Chapter 4

Party arrives just on time. Korse hears tires on sand before the hour is up; the blare of the radio. He's not certain, but he thinks Party might be singing along. It's not the first time he's overheard Party singing. The analytical part of his brain wonders if he can use it somehow. He knows about the gigs in the desert, the pirate radio stations, after all. He listens the Party park; the slam of the door. He's still singing, loud and obnoxious, until he gets closer, then he's quiet.

"Don't suppose you're gonna just tell me where you are so I don't have to look?" He calls. If this is an ambush, that's an interesting tactic. He only heard one door slam though, one set of footsteps. 

"I don't know," Korse calls back. "Maybe you should work for it."

"Interesting proposition. How would you like me to work for it? Should I crawl on my hands and knees? Use echo location?" He only sounds slightly sarcastic.

Korse chuckles. It feels strange. "You are good on your hands and knees."

There's a considering silence, then the door opens slowly. Party watches him for a long moment, then smiles. He drops down obligingly. He's actually going to crawl across the room. Korse has no words for the brazenness of this boy.

"What master wants, master gets," Party sing songs, and despite his tone, he looks good; he's clearly reveling in Korse's gaze on him.

"I did ask to talk, though," Korse points out. Party tilts his head; smiles. 

"Shall I stay here then?"

"Whatever you like," Korse sighs. Party stalls, considering, and then he sighs and gets up; moves to Korse and drapes himself across his lap, face carefully neutral. 

"What is it?"

"As I expected, BLI insists that your capture is my top priority."

His words don't trigger surprise, but maybe wariness. He feels Party tense incrementally. 

"And is it?"

"It's a difficult balance," Korse replies carefully. "How long can I draw out the assignment without damaging my own reputation?"

"And how long can we feasibly outrun you," Party agrees, "you already caught me, I don't know what to say."

"Are you caught?" Korse asks. Party chews his lip; shrugs one shoulder up helplessly. 

"I'm a little caught." He shifts to straddle Korse's lap and shows his teeth. "Doesn't mean I won't fight you again if you make me."

"I never assumed otherwise," Korse soothes, hands finding Party's thighs all too easily, "but I might have to kill you if we're going to make this work."

Party snorts. "Isn't that sort of...whaddaya call it, counterproductive?"

"Only if we do it wrong," Korse says absently, "I'll need a corpse, maybe teeth..."

"You're not getting my teeth!" Party protests. "I need those."

"Only a couple?"

At Party's indignant expression, he sighs. "If I brought back a body, I'd probably be sent for reeducation anyway."

"So what you need is a clone," Party snorts, then he sighs. He looks at Korse. "Does this mean the deal is off?"

"Just that it has an expiration date," Korse replies.

Party considers, then he wets his lips thoughtfully. 

"How long?"

Korse shrugs.

"I gotta say," Party sighs, "I expected more game face from the main player, I really did." Korse crosses his arms over his chest and scowls. "I'm just saying," Party shrugs, "I didn't expect you to give up, that's the last thing I expected."

"Did I say I was giving up?"

"That was kind of explicitly implied in the term 'expiration date', yes," Party replies stoutly. He's pouting, curled forward to minimize the space between Korse and himself.

"Are you so eager to spend time with me, then?" Korse taunts quietly.

"After last time, I kind of am..." smiling, Party shifts a little in his lap. "You're not?"

"Is that what you tell your friends?" Korse presses. "That I'm such a great fuck, you just can't resist it?"

Party hums, amused. "No, I tell them it's to keep you from killing me," he purrs, brushing his nose against his cheek, "you'll have to decide which is true, I guess."

Korse smirks. "Anyone expecting you home for dinner tonight, Party?"

"No, I'm at a peace treaty."

"Does this disgusting motel have any beds left?" he asks mildly.

"Beds? No. Mattresses?" Party grins crookedly.

"And here I was hoping to have something to tie you to," Korse murmurs.

He smiles at the soft noise the words evoke; the way Party moves closer. 

"M'sure we could find something- right?"

"Show me how creative you are, Party."

"Je suis une artiste," Party mocks lightly, and he gets up; stretches to show Korse the tan of his belly before he takes off in search of a suitable headboard substitute. Korse picks up his backpack and follows.

By the time he's in the same room as Party, the boy is already hauling a mattress he's found onto a dilapidated bed frame. He grins and flings his arms out. "Voila."

"Clever boy," Korse praises. He drops the bag on the floor and advances, wrapping a hand around Party's wrist.

"Are you going to tie me up and then call in the reinforcements?" Party breathes. He doesn't sound too worried.

"Nah," Korse murmurs. "I can think of other things to do."

"Show me how creative you are," Party echoes softly.

Heat flares in Korse's belly, and he tugs Party in for a kiss; arches against him. Kissing Party is like a fight; he loves it more than he should.

"What're you gonna tie me up with?" Party asks, because he can't leave well alone.

"You think I'm not prepared for that?" he murmurs. He feels Party shiver. 

"Just really stoked at the thought that you are."

"You want to open the bag and see what I brought?" Korse asks, running fingers through Party's tangle of hair. Party almost *bounces*, and fuck, Korse knows he's using him, he said it himself, but he knows that's genuine. 

"Can I?"

"Said so, didn't I?" He'd also packed far more supplies than one person would need, but he doesn't comment on that. Party opens the bag, biting his lip as his eyes scan the contents. Without speaking, he picks up a bottle of water; smiles and puts it to one side.

"Shit," he murmurs, "is this a fuckin' apple?"

"Can you not remember what they look like?"

"Fuck you."

"Planning on it," Korse murmurs.

"Now then, stop with the pageantry." He bites his lip, staring into the bag. He's hiding his jealousy badly, he knows. "What am I looking for, cuffs?"

"Please," Korse scoffs. "Rope, at the bottom."

Party digs it out; finds lube, too. No condoms, but most Batt City citizens are immunized against all modern diseases, Korse certainly will be; another thing to thank BLI for. Party hands over the coil of rope. "Kinky," he teases.

"You looked the type," Korse comments, "take off your shirt. Lie down."

It's a different, shirt, he notices. This one gapes at the neck, exposing Party's collarbones. He almost wants it to stay on, but it will just get in the way. Party is watching him look him over, and he still looks a mite reluctant to let Korse tie him to anything; the look in his eye is too much like smugness. He does take his shirt off, though, then hesitates. Korse raises a questioning brow.

"... Am I gonna die in here tonight?" Party asks, just softly. "Or get arrested?"

"Not unless you want to," Korse replies.

"Promise me," Party sounds almost like he's pleading.

"You'd believe me?" he asks.

"Yeah, if you meant it."

"I don't want to kill you, or arrest you," Korse repeats calmly.

Party nods. "Okay." He can't resist offering his wrists dramatically. Korse rolls his eyes, just slightly, and starts to bind them. He makes the loops fairly tight, but not tight enough to cut off circulation.

"On the bed," he says again. This time without hesitation, Party complies, kneeling carefully onto the rickety bed, eyes on his hands. Heat is crawling in his stomach already just at the tug. Korse narrows his eyes, considering how to bind him; decides on traditional and pushes Party down onto his back, arms above his head. He figures he can always roll him over if he gets sick of listening to him whine. Or seeing him smirk. But there's a soft look around Party's eyes that says more than any words could how much this turns him on.

The line of his cock through his ridiculous jeans helps, too. Korse reaches down with one finger and traces it delicately. Party arches into it immediately, eyes on his face. "Fuck-- please-"

"Patience," Korse hums.

"Cock tease, more like," Party breathes, skinny hips bridging clean off the mattress, "fuck, do something then--"

Korse smacks his thigh. Party lets out a soft whine.

"Patience is a totally foreign concept to you, isn't it," he murmurs. He does do something: he shrugs out of his coat and drapes it over a broken chair.

"Just a boring one," Party admits, watching him keenly, "fuck, you're hot--"

"Am I?" Korse says, mildly surprised. He goes for the buttons of his vest next, watching Party's face.

"Kidding me- yeah," Party giggles a little, hands wringing a little where they're tied, "yeah, you are." Korse smiles slowly; shrugs off his shirt. Party whines again softly. "So hot," he says, sounding strangled. He's even harder now. Korse can see his jeans practically standing away from his skin with the strain of it. He reaches out to trail his fingers lightly down Party's chest. The definition of his muscles is faint but still present. He's a wiry little fucker. Korse wouldn't have been able to say he had a type, before. He's not sure he can now, but there's a definite appeal in how Party looks not quite clean; sun kissed and just a shade of too lean.

"Do you want those jeans off?" he murmurs.

"Are you going to touch me if I do?"

"How do you want me to touch you?" Korse asks mildly.

Party flushes, that rare display of shyness Korse can't help but prod for. 

"Hurt me."

Korse keeps his tone even. "With my hands, or something else?"

“Whatever you want," Party breathes, somewhat less together.

"That's dangerous," Korse replies. He kneels on the mattress and starts working on the button and zip of Party's jeans.

"I know," Party whines, arching helplessly. Every time Korse's fingers brush his skin he makes a small noise. Korse marvels.

"Has anyone else seen you like this?"

The bob of Party's throat betrays him before his voice can. He shakes his head slowly, gasping quietly. He's even crazier than Korse could have imagined. He's almost uncomfortable with it, the unbiased trust Party is shoving into his hands; barely strangers, hardly anything more. It's intoxicating, nonetheless. Mad as he is, fucked up as he is, his gaze is clear; he's watching Korse from under the fall of his fringe, expression nearly challenging. Korse pulls the jeans down his thighs roughly, glaring, and he just shivers under the attention, swallowing his whine of impatience.

Korse watches the muscles in his arms twitch and slaps his thigh again.

"Fuck-" Party flinches, a blush spreading slowly across his collar bones.

Korse smirks and pushes his knees up against his chest. He goes for another smack, on his ass this time. Party all out keens, breaths coming faster and cheeks tinged with something like shame. "Fuck-"

"You liked that?" Korse murmurs.

"I'd like it better if it had hurt-" Party grins.

Korse hits him again, several times in succession. He makes sure this time it feels as bad as it sounds.

“Oh shit-!” The noise Party makes is delicious. Eyes tight shut, jaw slack, rope already cutting welts into his wrists where he pulls. "Fuck- K-"

"I won't fuck you until your ass is nice and red, Red," he says with a smirk. He surprises himself with a laugh at the way Party buries his face in his arm with a whine of protest that’s more sob than snarl. "You asked for it," Korse hums, leaning down to kiss him. It's deep and filthy, and despite his whining, Party seems eager as ever, winding one calf slowly around Korse's back to pull him close. That makes Korse shudder a bit.

"Like having you here with me," Party breathes, voice softer than it has any business being, "makes me feel like I'm seeing parts of you no one has seen, either."

"Perhaps," Korse allows.

"Perhaps?" He sounds, maybe, a mite wounded by the word. Korse runs his nails up and down Party's thighs, not looking away from his face, watching the way he lets his tongue touch the crescent of his bottom teeth as he pants, arching into the touch. Korse is fascinated by the way red stains his skin. He considers the pale inside of his knee, jaw setting at the impulse to bite.

"Do it," Party orders, quietly, and Korse leans in and sinks his teeth into the flesh of his thigh. Party hisses, and Korse pants quietly, watching the blood come up to just below the surface of the skin. "More," Party demands, voice raw.

"More of what?" Korse murmurs. 

Party growls softly in frustration; arches against his bonds. "Pain."

Korse slaps him across the face this time, can hear his teeth click together. His own trousers are getting nearly too tight to bear. Party takes it like a champ, letting the pain resonate before he groans through his teeth, stomach creasing. "Please- again-" Korse obliges with a backhand, watches his hair fly across his face. He reaches down to adjust his fly and Party bares his teeth. "Take ‘em off."  
  
Korse quirks an eyebrow; slaps him again sharply. "You don't get to make demands, Party."  
  
"I don't remember that rule." Party's eyes spark. Either he's not nearly as submissive as he's making himself out to be, or he's trying to provoke one hell of a beating. From the way he's breathing, and how hard he is, how slick, Korse hazards he knows which.  
  
"Party," he hums knowingly.  
  
"Korse." He's grinning wide.  
  
"Turn over," Korse orders softly.  
  
He hums thoughtfully before he complies, rolling carefully on to his stomach, drawing his knees under himself to push his ass into the air. He grins the whole time. Korse smacks him again, a stinging blow to his thigh.  
  
"Fuck-" Party sighs, arching, "you're good at this..." Korse slips a hand between his legs to tug at his balls. He cries out; jerks weakly. "Fuck-!" Korse runs a hand over the curve of his ass, and Party whines. "Please touch me."  
  
"You said you wanted me to hurt you," Korse replies, voice steady.  
  
"Both?" Party says hopefully.  
  
Korse smiles, just a tilt of his mouth, and presses close to curl a hand around his cock. The way Party moans and pushes into his grip is flattering. "You're so spoilt," he murmurs.  
  
"Who's doing the spoiling?"  
  
He grins wider. "I guess me." Korse keeps a grip on his cock and spanks him hard, a few blows in succession, watching him clench and squirm, not sure which direction to go.  
  
"Korse," he whines, panting hard, mouth making a loose 'o' of need, "please, please-"  
  
"Please what, Red?" Korse murmurs.  
  
He makes a noise of annoyance, like he doesn't want to force the words out; hates to be specific. He flicks back the scarlet tangle of his hair and snarls. "Fuck me." When Korse lets go of him altogether, he spits out a string of curses. When he flips him back over with one sharp movement, he's suddenly silent, eyes widening with curiosity. His fingers clench and unclench above his head.  
  
Korse watches him, tilting his head. He's utterly still for a moment, and then he kneels onto the mattress and starts to shed his slacks. Party licks his lips.  
  
"I'll fuck you," Korse relents, "but on my terms. If you come before I let you, Red, I will make you sorry, and not in a way you will enjoy. Understand?"  
  
Party nods. "Yeah," he breathes, hips lifting.  
  
"Yes what?" Korse is stroking himself now, long and slow, not taking his eyes off Party's face.  
  
"I understand," Party says.  
  
Korse hums his consideration, like he's not sure Party really means it, and then he lifts his hands to the backs of Party's knees; pushes them to his chest and dips his head to lick a long trail up the underside of his cock. When he said Party wasn't allowed to come, he didn't mean he wouldn't make it nearly impossible. Party yells and jerks. Korse laughs. "You understand?"  
  
"I understand," he breathes, and it comes out as all but a whimper.  
  
He bites at the lower curve of Party's ass near the crease of his thigh. When Party whines he hums; licks the skin and dips lower to drag his tongue slowly over his hole.  
  
"K," Party moans. "Oh, fuck, please."  
  
Ignoring him, Korse continues, licking him slowly, watching him every now and then through the V of his thighs. Party is stunning when he's falling apart. Korse wants to see him limp and unresisting. The way Party's breaths are coming, the way he's crying out with every stroke of his tongue, it might take a while. That's okay, Korse flagged a stakeout on his operations schedule, no one will be wondering where he is just yet. He's prepared to be out here overnight. He doesn't plan on being alone.  
  
"Holy fuck," Party whines, and Korse feels him arch; calves tense against his hands, "Korse- please-" Korse licks again, adds the press of a finger. "Yes, fuck please-!"  
  
He presses slowly, leaning over and biting Party's ass again. He hums when he almost gets a kick in the head for his trouble, Party flailing weakly as he strains to be quiet, stay calm, hold back. Korse wants his tongue all over him. It's irresistible. He pushes a finger into him deeply as he continues, only managing to half suppress his own soft groan of need at the way Party drapes his calves against his back in an attempt to pull him in closer.  
  
"I heard that..." Party pants.  
  
When Korse pulls away with a soft wet sound to look at him, he groans again at the sight. Party is all loose lines and taut skin, the flush across the bridge of his nose and his sweat misted skin enough to make him seriously reconsider his stance on taking his time. He could devour him like this. He runs gentle fingers up the insides of Party's thighs. "More?"  
  
His voice is almost a sob when it comes, stuttered and soft. "Please..."  
  
"More of what?"  
  
"Everything?" Hopefully. He can't take his eyes off of the expressions flitting over Korse's face. It's almost dizzying watching them change. He's not attempting to hide them, for once. He smiles now, and Party's stomach lurches dangerously. If you offered him a million credits and a lifetime supply of all his favorite vices, he couldn't tell you what he wanted more: the hands or the hitting.  
  
Thankfully, Korse doesn't make him choose, starting to press another finger into him slowly as he leans up to bite the inside of his thigh just a shade harder than uncomfortable. Party whimpers, cock bobbing against his stomach. Korse grins at him with his flesh still between his teeth and in that instance, Party has to think of every awful thing he's ever seen to keep from embarrassing himself.  
  
Korse lets go and licks his lips. "Don't you dare."  
  
"No," Party whines, and he has no idea when he became such a quick fucking trigger; when he got so fucking easy. His ass and thighs are stinging, his wrists too. His cock is so hard he thinks his eyes are crossing.  
  
Korse is looking around now, and it takes Party a moment of heart-stopping panic to realize he's not going to get dressed and leave him there, he's just looking for the lube Party put on the end of the bed before. His grin when he picks up the tube is terrifying.  
  
"You like my hands and you want me to hurt you," he says thoughtfully, opening the cap.  
  
Party nods mutely, staring. He arches when he feels Korse pressing two now-slick fingers back into him without ceremony, letting out a shuddering breath of need. Korse is watching him with dark eyes. He wrings his numbing hands, panting weakly. "What-?"  
  
"Wondering how much you can really take," he murmurs.  
  
It takes a few seconds for his words to sink in. "Holy fuck-" Party bridges his hips weakly, "yeah- yes- please-"  
  
Korse smiles again. "Greedy little shit."  
  
"You love it," Party counters, "fuck, please..."  
  
Korse adds another finger, twisting his wrist. At Party's little gasp he kisses the inside of his knee in a moment of near fondness, starting to fuck him in earnest with the three, fast and slick.   
  
Party braces his heels on Korse's shoulders and arches. He feels Korse bend to lick slowly under the head of his cock and cries out. Having Korse's mouth on him makes him feel crazed. He's so close to coming he's mortified with it, half torn between the relief of that and the reward of doing as he's told, fuck. He doesn't even have to be told anymore, Korse's eyes are enough. He takes a long, shuddering breath; bites his lip against the onslaught of sensation and steels himself.

Korse bites the inside of his knee and pushes in a fourth finger. It's so much; Party has to tip his hips and shift his thighs wider to accommodate him, all the breath knocked from his lungs.  
  
"You -" Korse grits, a little breathless himself.  
  
"Mmh- I-?"  
  
"I was expecting a noise, something," he murmurs. "How much do you want this?"  
  
"So fucking much," Party promises, nearly panicking at the thought of Korse withdrawing. "Your hands, K, please, your fingers -"  
  
"Want more, Red?" he mutters, giving his wrist a little shove, working his fingers in deeper little by little.  
  
Party keens, eyes squeezing shut. Korse is fucking him slickly now, slowly easing to his knuckles. It's no mean feat; his hands are broad, long fingered. Party feels him slip a little deeper and groans. "So full. So -"  
  
"Tight," Korse breathes.  
  
"I can take it," Party moans.  
  
Korse tucks his thumb up against his palm carefully; squeezes more lube over the back of his knuckles; his thumb. "I know you can." Moisture gathers in the corner of Party's eyes; he bites his lip hard enough to break the skin. "Red?" Korse waits.  
  
"Please K, please now please," he whines.  
  
Korse takes his own steadying breath and complies. Millimeter by millimeter he pushes in, as Party chokes on a moan. When his body gives and Korse abruptly slides in to the bridge of his knuckles, he goes sheet white, cries weakening. It's so fucking much. Korse freezes, panting. He tightens his fingers on Party's thigh.  
  
"Holy fuck," Party grits, "holy shit."  
  
"Relax," Korse grits.  
  
"You relax," he snarks back lamely. He's not quite as hard now, but he's breathing through an entirely different set of sensations.  
  
Korse allows himself a tiny, reflexive twitch of his fingers and stalls when Party shudders.   
  
"Fuck-!"  
  
"You can take it," he murmurs, deliberately doing it again.  
  
"Fuck- yeah, do something, move-" Coming back to life again now, arching his hips gingerly. Korse thrusts his hand, achingly slow. Feels him trembling again now, thighs and body, crying out softly.  
  
"Is this what you wanted?"  
  
Party nods helplessly; makes another abortive movement with his trapped hands and whines. "Wanna suck you," he gasps. "Wanna -" he knows he isn't allowed to come, but his entire body is sensitized. Watching him, Korse nudges his hand again gently; noses at the inside of his knee.   
  
"Wanna-?" he prompts softly. He's enjoying this more than he ever thought he would.  
  
"Use me," he whimpers, letting his arms go limp.  
  
Korse shivers; rocks his wrist again gently and nods. He keeps moving his hand as Party's breathing tightens up into a choked scream and his knees lock around Korse's shoulders, then he pulls his hand free, fumbling his trousers open.  
  
"Fuck, please," he yelps, wrists jarring, face bright with pain and bliss.  
  
Korse shoves his fly open and fists his own cock roughly before guiding the head to Party's hole. He thrusts in fast with teeth bared. Hot and slick, Party clenches around him weakly and moans. Korse pushes Party's legs up against his chest and snaps his hips. He fucks him fast and relentless now, long shocks of his hips that feel like coming undone. His own vision blurring, filling with snapshots like static of Party's face, his sweat-damp hair, his wild eyes.  
  
Party folds his calves against his back; jerks him closer and hisses at the low burn of need that runs through him. His entire body is shaking. He arches toward Korse, needing to be closer.  
  
Korse needs it too; lowers himself over Party as he moves, catching his mouth in a kiss. Party moans and presses close, arms straining. He's close, has been from the moment Korse got inside him. He strains with the effort of holding back, panting loud and fast.  
  
"K," he breathes, "fuck, Korse, you feel so good."  
  
He bites into his shoulder in response; holds his thighs tight enough to bruise as his thrusts grow erratic. Party whines louder.  
  
"Fuck- are you gonna come-? Want you to-"  
  
"Yeah," Korse groans into his throat. Party whines, wringing his hands weakly. Korse nips at his Adam's apple, thrusting faster. He's so close. So fucking close. "You'll come when I do," he growls. Party cries out weakly, nodding fast. Korse kisses him again, holding tight to his thighs. "Now, Party," he tells him under his breath, and he lets himself go in three long shoves of his hips.   
  
Party's spine arches and he keens, body clenching. His orgasm is like nothing he's ever felt before, crashing and roaring. For the first time, he thinks he actually passes out, at least for a moment. It takes a few minutes for him to come back down to earth anyway, just breathing and feeling and falling apart. Korse is heavy atop him. He savors the weight. Still, his fingers itch to touch. He'll have marks on his wrists for days. Weeks, maybe. He can't wait.  
  
After a few minutes of waiting, Korse finally reaches up to untie him, hands careful now. He rolls them over and massages gently over the marks with his thumbs.  
  
"S'nice," Party murmurs, stretching out cattishly under the attention, half curled on his side. His entire body aches. He loves it. He feels Korse watching him; his hand drifting down his bruising flanks, over his hip.  
  
Party has an urge to mark him too, leave his signature on that sickly-pale skin. He pulls him down to kiss his shoulder, humming when Korse's cool fingers trail down the back of his hip.   
  
Korse grumbles deep in his chest when Party's kisses turn sharp. He doesn't pull away though, just stiffens a little; tugs gently on his hair. Party settles in to leave a hickey, closing his eyes against the tug on his fringe.  
  
"Greedy," Korse comments again, but he's arching into the heat of his mouth, tugging again gently. He lets Party leave two or three marks before rolling him over and pinning his hands by his head. "Enough."  
  
"I'm not sure it is," Party murmurs, "but all right." He stretches under him, bracketing his hips with his knees and sighing "What now?"

  
"Now you drink some water and eat something," Korse mumbles, but he doesn't seem too worried about moving, just smoothing cool palms down Party's wrists before he settles close onto the mattress beside him.   
  
Party wars between curling up against him and diving for the bag with the food. Korse must see it, because he huffs an unfamiliar laugh; sits up to grab it, presenting Party with the options calmly. Something funny and ticklish settles in his stomach when he sees how much of it is non-perishable, and how much of it there is.  
  
"You staying here after I leave?" Party teases.   
  
"No, this is for you."  
  
"I have this irresistible urge to suck your dick right now," Party replies. "Your evil plan worked."  
  
"Dastardly aren't I," he agrees absently.  
  
"Yep." Party tosses some jerky and one of the precious apples onto the mattress. He pulls his jeans on and disappears for a minute, and when he comes back, he's carrying a blanket he must have gotten from the back of the Trans am, grinning ear to ear.  
  
"Cold?" Korse asks.  
  
"Little," he throws it out on the mattress; climbs in and retrieves the apple, buffing it on his filthy jeans and just examining it for a minute.  
  
"I would have brought more if I knew you were this obsessed," Korse jokes.  
  
"Don't joke, I last ate about five days ago," Party says seriously, and he finally takes a bite; chews with his eyes down and his brows drawn.  
  
Emotions Korse didn't know he had are swirling around, unidentifiable. He's never seen anyone look so grateful to see an apple. It makes him feel abruptly sick to be reminded of people like Party's very real poverty. They chose to leave the City, a cold voice that sounds like the Chairwoman says in his head. And he knows that, but he's not sure it's not just proof of the rebels' commitment to their beliefs. It strikes him as faintly biblical, leaving the safety of the garden in search of knowledge. He's always had a job and done it, but he never truly realized the implications until now, watching Party counting out apples to see if there are enough for his boys.  
  
There are. Korse knows Party's buttons pretty well by now, and his boys are the biggest one.  
  
Party puts them back in the bag; takes another contemplative bite of his own. "I don't think I've had an apple since... Shit, since Cherri pulled a crate from a shipment in 2... That was about three years ago, I think."  
  
"Cherri?" Korse repeats mildly.  
  
"He passed," Party says absently, biting into the core of his apple, wiping his chin at the juice that escapes there.  
  
"Did we -"   
  
Party laughs. "What do you think?" Korse isn't used to the cold stone of guilt that drops into his gut. He sets his jaw. "I can give you the count," Party murmurs. "Would you like it with or without the ones who're under masks now?"  
  
"Sure, shall I give you the names of the ones you put down, too?" Korse murmurs, watching him.  
  
"Like you know."  
  
"Fugitive Party Poison, twenty-seven years of age, charges of theft, GBH, aggravated assault, resisting arrest, soliciting, vandalism, possession and dealing of illegal substances, and thirty two counts of manslaughter," Korse starts, voice arch.  
  
"Only thirty-two?" Party bitches. "Fuck, I feel like a chump."  
  
"I know their names," Korse continues, "don't pretend your murders are more righteous than mine. That's not how it works." He reaches out; tugs Party bodily closer. "Besides, there's time to make it more, you're only young."  
  
"You made me promise to stay away from them," Party reminds him. "That sort of cramps my style."  
  
"Good point," Korse muses, nosing into him, "we'll have to think of some other extracurricular activities you can pick up."  
  
"Thought of one," Party singsongs.  
  
"Enlighten me."  
  
"Full-time personal sex provider?" Party hazards.  
  
"Full-time? Someone might notice we're missing," Korse says, but he can't stop his mouth from crooking up in a smile.  
  
"Depends how far we run," Party says, but he's already stopped paying attention, rummaging through the food again.   
  
Korse doesn't challenge the remark. He knows it's off the cuff. He doesn't try to derail Party from investigating the backpack either, even though he's overwhelmed by the urge to kiss him. How dare the little asshole make Korse feel things, really.   
  
"Shit," Party holds up a candy bar and looks like he's about to combust, "fuck. Korse, Jesus, bring me more of these and I promise you, thirty two will be my final figure."  
  
"You'd rather have chocolate than me?" Korse murmurs.  
  
He looks up at that, eyes bright, and his expression melts into something Korse hasn't seen shot in his direction for some time: affection. "No sir," he says.  
  
Korse isn't waiting anymore to kiss him. He tugs him in with a fist in his fall of hair. Party groans and drops the candy; cups Korse's jaw as they kiss. He throws himself into the kiss like he'd thrown himself into eating. He still tastes tart and sweet. Korse hauls him in closer and groans. He hates how this is turning on him. He should have known.  
  
"Korse, I have to tell you something," Party mutters, brushing their noses.  
  
"Do you?" he murmurs back.  
  
"Yeah..." Party wets his lips. "I haven't sucked your cock yet and I didn't get to last time, and... I kinda need to."  
  
"Now?" Korse asks. "That's a pretty flattering estimation of my recovery time."  
  
"As soon as possible," Party says seriously, but the corner of his mouth is twitching.  
  
"I'll keep you notified," Korse replies, scooping up the candy bar and dangling it in front of Party's nose.  
  
He takes it; hums and settles more comfortably in Korse's lap, flies open and scarred shoulders bared and eyes warm as he opens it up. "Wanna split it?"  
  
Korse shakes his head. "I brought it for you."  
  
Party narrows his eyes, grinning. "Did you have this information on your little file on me? Party Poison: partial to Godiva bars."  
  
"Did you consider that perhaps I am partial to them?" Korse murmurs.  
  
"It never occurred to me, really." Party looks at him, chewing happily, savoring, then he swallows. "Can I ask you something?"  
  
"Ask away," Korse says dryly, not that he thinks it would stop Party either way.  
  
"What's changed?" He takes another bite of the chocolate; talks around it like the trash pile he is. "A few weeks ago you didn't even... You didn't even seem to register words, you were like a machine. What happened? You start tonguing your robot meds?"  
  
Korse goes hot, then cold automatically before he remembers he's far from the City. "Yeah," he says gruffly.  
  
Party's head snaps up. "Seriously? Why?"  
  
Korse shifts a little; rubs the back of his neck and doesn't look at Party, which is hard considering he's sat on top of him. "I... I was just..."  
  
"You growing a soul, Robocop?" Party murmurs.  
  
Korse tries to crack a smile, but it comes out more of a grimace. "I don't think animals can have souls."  
  
"You're tryin' to make me cry into my chocolate," Party grumbles.  
  
"Well, we can't have that."  
  
Party breaks off a piece and offers it to him. "Why?" he repeats softly.  
  
Accepting it, Korse glances up at Party and considers. "I ran out while I was on a patrol, withdrew over a few days..." he shrugs weakly, eyes wandering. "I remembered what it was like to have feelings."  
  
"Fuck, K, it sucks to have feelings," Party laughs.  
  
"It really fucking does," Korse agrees readily, "but... Not having them... Removes all your agency, your authority on your own opinions. You don't even have opinions because nothing... Nothing permeates your awareness."  
  
"Shit," Party marvels. "You're starting to sound like one of us."  
  
"What, a human?"  
  
Party raises an eyebrow. ".... Sure." Rolling his eyes, Korse sits back a little. "... That was a joke." Party leans in to kiss him again.   
  
They both taste like chocolate now, and Party's starting to look flushed and bright-eyed, sugar and caffeine working through a deprived system. He shivers when Korse's hands find his hips; pull him closer into his lap.  
  
"You need to drink some water," Korse tells him, but leans in to kiss his throat anyway.  
  
Party tips his chin up; drapes his arms around his shoulders and arches into the attention. "Mmhm-- probably should-"  
  
"Don't want you to pass out," Korse replies. The skin underneath Party's jaw is surprisingly soft.  
  
"No," Party agrees softly, and he peels away slightly to retrieve some; settles back against him as he opens it, "want some?"  
  
Korse wants to watch him drink it; he's strangely obsessed with movement of Party's throat. "No."  
  
Party shrugs, then abruptly pauses, bottle halfway to his lips. He has a smudge of chocolate on his cheek. Korse reaches out to remove it, but Party jolts a bit, looking suddenly nervous. Korse tuts; wipes it with his thumb. "Wondering if I'm trying to drug you? I already had you tied up," Korse reminds him.  
  
Party nods, blinks a little and takes a drink. When he lowers the bottle he gasps; wipes his mouth. "Sorry, I- just thought, like shit, how dumb that would have been..."  
  
"You either trust me or you don't," Korse says flatly.  
  
"I do, that's the problem," Party grumbles weakly, "I'm so unwary about this, I feel like I should be careful and I'm just not. You probably think I'm some kinda idiot." he drains the bottle and tosses it to the floor, reaching out to touch Korse's face. He lets him; feels himself smiling again, so many times today, each time involuntarily.   
  
"Yes, but you're not the only one with that problem."  
  
"Do I think you're an idiot? No way, I think you have great fuckin' taste."  
  
"I didn't mean that you thought it, just that it was true." Korse snorts with laughter; kisses him soundly. "You're right of course, I have impeccable taste."  
  
"Tell me I can blow you now," Party insists. There’re a few beats, and when Korse nods, he grins and kisses him once more. "Gonna make it so good for you."  
  
"I don't doubt it."  
  
It's Korse's turn to lie back on the mattress, except he tucks his hands casually behind his head. Grinning like a pumpkin, Party shifts slowly between his knees, throwing back the blanket as he leans in to kiss down his chest. Korse makes a deep, satisfied sound that vibrates Party's lips.   
  
He smooths his palms up the insides of Korse's bare thighs; marvels quietly at the situation at large. His tongue finds the welt of a long scar on Korse's stomach and he follows it, humming softly. It's an old one, and Party doesn't ask. He can imagine any manner of ways Korse got it. In another moment, he's nosing down into the crease of his hip instead. He feels Korse watching him; feels his breaths quicken barely. Party runs a testing fingertip down the underside of Korse's cock, not yet fully hard but curving up toward his belly. The resulting shiver is enough to make him grin.   
  
Meeting his gaze, Party lowers his chin and licks a slow trail up the underside of his cock, long laps of his tongue that make Korse's thighs tense reflexively. He's nearly hard when Party takes the head in his mouth, and a few flicks of his tongue get him the rest of the way there. He swallows him down wetly, steadying him gently with his fingers, thumb stroking at the soft dip at the base.  
  
Korse makes a quiet noise of pleasure, stretching out under him. Party feels so accomplished just at that: a sound willingly given, not teased out. He can't believe the fucking Head Exterminator is: here, moaning under his mouth and hands, and fucking off his BLI pills. Just the thought makes him whirl his tongue; suck under the head of his cock to make him squirm. He wants to positively reinforce every dangerous choice Korse has made in the last twenty-four hours.  
  
He pulls off and rubs his cheek against Korse's groin, willing him to put his hands in Party's hair again. He complies without being asked, tugging with something like impatience, guiding Party's mouth back to his cock. "Don't stop-"  
  
Party takes him in his mouth again, sucking slowly, using his fingers to stroke the base. He can't help but hum at the tug on his hair; swallow softly on the shallow stutters of Korse's hips. He didn't intend to be gentle, but here he is.  
  
"Fuck," Korse breathes, arching into the heat of his mouth. Party soothes his free hand over Korse's stomach, fingers finding the edge of that scar again.  
  
He's sucking wet and steady now, savoring the taste of his skin; the sharp of his breath with each slide of his tongue. Korse's hands go from gentle to rough and back again, like he can't decide if he wants to take or have it taken from him. Party moves with the motions of his hips; chokes on him softly and moans. He'll take it however it comes. This is enough of a reward for both of them.  
  
Korse tips his head back slowly; lets out a shuddering breath at the faint tease of Party's teeth against his skin; his fingers brushing low between his thighs. His patience will hold out against Party's teasing - he thinks. That being said, Party is making it particularly hard, fingers stroking down against his entrance, tongue whirling slowly around the head of his cock. He's being almost lazy, like this is an indulgence. The way he'd asked, it probably is.  
  
Korse isn't sure if he likes being seen as an indulgence. He gives a gentle, warning tug on his hair, words hissed through clenched teeth. "Party- stop fucking around."  
  
"Can't help it," Party pants, pulling off to give his cock a few strokes.  
  
"Help it," Korse orders, arching.  
  
Party laughs and takes him back in, sinking down until Korse is fucking his throat. He jerks softly on his hair; arches his hips slowly. Party bobs his head, letting Korse move with him.  
  
"Fuck," he grits, jolting weakly. This is the opposite of lazy. It's perfect. He can hardly breathe. Korse lets his eyes close and concentrates on the feelings in his stomach, thighs, cock. The warmth and tightness, aliveness of Party's mouth. Since he stopped taking his meds, even this feels so much more than it did before, raw and overwhelming and complete. He tugs at Party's hair again, letting one hand slide down to cup his cheek.   
  
Party raises his chin to meet his gaze, sucking on the head of his cock intently, shivering at the sight. Korse is watching him with a chillingly focused fascination. Party has never seen someone look so precisely stranded between pleasure and uncertainty. He wants to see him choose pleasure, wants to see him stop resisting. He swallows him into the back of his throat and palms over his balls, pace more persuasive now.  
  
He's fucking good at this and he's going to use that. He wants Korse to want him; to know he wants him. Not to want anything else. He speeds up, closing his eyes. Korse fists at his hair and curses.  
  
"Fuck, Party, goddammit," he grits. His eyes clamp shut.  
  
Party hums and grabs gently at his hips; jerks him closer. It's his turn to control this, and he knows Korse hasn't missed that.  
  
"Red," he growls again, and this time he holds fast on his hair; jerks his hips to make him stall and whine around him. Whatever he missed, whatever he's fighting with, he's getting close. The noises he's making sound like an animal; he's as far from robotic as he could get. Eyes tearing and throat protesting, Party can't help but moan: he likes to fucking win.  
  
Korse's free hand slams flat against the mattress and Party tastes him starting to come. Choking a little, he keeps sucking. Korse is still holding him on his cock; rocking out the pulses as he comes harder. Party feels an almost painful throb of need and breathes through it, knuckles white on Korse's hips.  
  
When Korse finally lets go, Party pushes up to see his face. He's watching him too, eyes heavy, jaw slack as he pants. As Party wipes his mouth, he gives a crooked smile. It still looks like an expression he half-forgot.  
  
"Thank you," Party croaks.  
  
"Any time," Korse says, quizzical politeness. Party doesn't care; he can see so many splinters of Korse's true nature coming through, he knows there will be more to come, the foreignness is just where it hasn't come back yet.  
  
He crawls up to slump down beside him; curls in close against his hip and draws him close to kiss him. "So, yeah, that was good," he murmurs.  
  
"You could say that," Korse agrees, breaths still a little rushed.  
  
"I just did, ass," Party teases him, nipping at his jaw. Korse jerks on a strand of his hair and in retaliation.  
  
"Try to resist being a smug little shit for five minutes while I enjoy the aftermath of how nice it was, please," Korse mutters.  
  
"Impossible," Party says, but he nuzzles at Korse's neck in apology. He feels him smile into his hair; pull him closer gently to go for the open- and straining- zipper of his jeans. "Oh," Party says, pleased. "Fuck, yeah."  
  
Korse laughs softly and slips his hand into his jeans to jerk them down low on his hips; palm over his cock as he turns to kiss Party deep. Party pushes into both. He whines softly when Korse starts to stroke him, the sound buzzing between their mouths. He's still sore from their last round, but Korse's hand feels so good he can't care.  
  
He strokes hard and fast, like he doesn't care that he's making Party tense and wince with it; he's holding him close and kissing him hard and deep. It's fucking payback and it's great. Party laughs between kisses, delighted.  
  
Korse can't help but grin against his lips. "So wild," he murmurs softly.  
  
"Like you're surprised," Party replies.  
  
"No, but I like it."  
  
Now Party's grin is, if possible, even more delighted.  
  
Korse pulls away briefly to grab lube; squeeze some into his palm with one hand and wrap it back around Party's cock, huffing a breath of laughter and want when Party moans at the slide. Party pushes up into it with little rhythm. It feels messy and rough now, Korse stroking him so fast Party can feel himself edging like he didn't come his brains out a fucking half hour ago. It's fucking delicious.  
  
"Yeah, K, fuck, you're so fucking good at that," he mumbles.  
  
"So show me," Korse breathes, biting at his lower lip, his thumb flicking over the head of his cock, "come on Party, moan for me."  
  
It feels good to let out a fucking loud, no-one's-around-for-miles moan. Party can't even fake it, the fast pulse of Korse's hand around him feels too good. He pants and arches, rubbing his face against Korse's chest.  
  
"Good boy," Korse praises softly, pressing his nose into his hair, holding him closer than he really has any business to, when this is an agreement, a fucking arrangement. He swipes the pad of his thumb back and over Party's slit; exhales sharply at the noise he makes.  
  
"C'n be so good," Party slurs.  
  
"You are good. So good." He's stroking him fast again now, curling his free arm around the back of his shoulders to grip his throat; tip his chin up as he squeezes gently. Party's next moan vibrates against his fingers. He flushes; meets Korse's gaze and nods at his questioning hum.  
  
Korse squeezes harder. The moan it elicits is enough to make him bite his lip, hard enough to hurt. Party's gasps go ragged, but his hips keep moving, fucking into Korse's hand.  
  
"Come on, pretty," Korse whispers, stroking just that little bit faster. He squeezes harder around Party's throat, hums when he feels Party tensing under his hands, eyes squeezing shut, eyelashes wet. His chest heaves and he bucks into Korse's grip, flooding wet and messy over his fingers. "Fuck, good boy, good boy," Korse murmurs. He loosens his chokehold a bit and feels Party's moan tickle his palm.  
  
"Holy shit," Party wheezes, and he's pushing Korse's hand away from his oversensitive cock now, gasping. He sits up, and Korse rests a hand on his back. "That was good." He leans into him, shivering softly from the exertion. He tugs the blanket back up.  
  
"Good," Korse murmurs.  
  
"So good," Party mumbles, tucking his head under Korse's chin, "you know how good." He's...snuggling. Korse has no idea what to do. Like he can read his mind, Party pulls his arm around him and settles.  
  
"Relax, this is normal."  
  
"Is it?"  
  
Party looks up at him, good mood ebbing a little. "You bought me food, you put various parts of your body in my body, and you just gave me a seriously fucking good hand job. Trust me, this is normal for us."  
  
He feels Korse nod. "All right. Do you sleep?"  
  
"Not often... Sometimes. S'usually too risky," Party murmurs, but at the thought he tenses his jaw against a yawn.  
  
"Do it now," Korse tells him, not unkindly.  
  
"With you?"  
  
"I'll keep watch," Korse replies.  
  
Party whines, just a little. "Do I have to move?"  
  
"No," Korse tells him.  
  
Party is quiet for a long moment, then he sighs. "This... This was good."  
  
"Mutually satisfying," Korse replies.  
  
"Say what you want, it was just fuckin' amazing."  
  
Korse touches a strand of his hair. "I... yes. It was."  
  
Party looks up; smiles softly. "Thank you."  
  
Party looks so grateful to be shown a scrap of intimacy, or kindness. It's bizarre. Korse watches him sip at the water he'd brought before he passes it over his shoulder to him, settling back into his side. Korse sips from the bottle too, staring down at Party's tousled red head. It's about thirty seconds before he realizes that Party's uncharacteristic silence is because he's already asleep, head against Korse's chest and arm draped over his torso.  
  
Korse stares down at him. That was fast. The fact that he's actually relaxed enough -to- sleep is probably significant. Korse's temples ache when he tries to think about it for too long. He can only conclude, somewhat stubbornly, that Party is just a combination of worn out and fed and watered. He's warm, though, and Korse feels surprisingly relaxed himself.  
  
He doesn't realize quiet how relaxed until he jolts awake a couple of hours later. Party's still curled up beside him, but awake now.  
  
"Were you watching me?" Korse fails to keep the slight accusation out of his tone.  
  
"Not much else to look at in here," Party replies. "Besides, I was just wondering how best to tell you what a shitty watch you make."  
  
"I have people for that," Korse sneers. "Though...not right now." His stomach is churning a bit with the realization of how lucky he is.  
  
"Yeah." Party smiles. "It's okay, it's nice to see you relax."  
  
"I haven't for - a long time," Korse replies. "This is not the best time to start perhaps."  
  
"Iunno," Party shrugs, "I can think of worse times."  
  
"When I have to explain my latest mission failures to the Chairwoman, perhaps," Korse muses.  
  
Party glances up at him; hums softly. "Maybe you could arrest me... And then help me escape again."  
  
"That's risky, Party," Korse murmurs.  
  
"No shit," absently, Party itches the inside of his knee, humming a bit, "but it'd get her off your back for a bit." It would. Korse nods absently, thinking. "I'd have to tell the boys," Party continues, "so they could pick me up when I bust out."  
  
"It would be easiest before you're taken into the Lobby," Korse points out.  
  
"Right..." Party wrinkles his nose; "well, if you give me a rundown... Won't she expect you to take me in yourself?"  
  
"You do want me to look better, not worse?" Korse points out.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"So you'd need to escape from the Drac escort, not me," Korse replies.  
  
A soft hum of agreement. "I guess so, maybe you should make the arrest and then hand me over I guess."  
  
"That's what I thought. We'll have to make it convincing though. Maybe get it caught by surveillance."  
  
"Yeah, definitely. Gimme a split lip to make it really convincing huh?"  
  
"You'll like that," Korse murmurs.  
  
"Why do you think I suggested it?"  
  
Korse shakes his head. "Shameless." But he curls a hand around the back of Party's neck as he says it.  
  
"Thank you," Party grins, leaning in to kiss him slowly.  
  
"Of course you think that's a good thing," Korse chuckles, biting at Party's lower lip.  
  
"I certainly do. Shame never did me any good," he murmurs, "wouldn't have this if I had shame."  
  
Korse shakes his head, kissing Party again. "Do you need more sleep?"  
  
He shakes his head; kisses him again with more insistence. Korse tangles his fingers in Party's hair. He really ought to be going.  
  
"You said no one was expecting you until morning, right...?" Party murmurs. "It's a long drive, you need something to think about." He shifts onto Korse's lap again.  
  
"You're insatiable," Korse murmurs.  
  
"Fuckin' right I am." He kisses him again, murmuring. "Gotta get it while I can."  
  
Korse rolls him over and kisses him harder. He can't believe what's happening; how this is real. He feels surprisingly guiltless. There's nothing so good about his job - his life, really - that this isn't an improvement. Party feels so alive beneath him, more color and heat than he's felt in years. Party is nothing but color and heat, really. And things Korse doesn't want to think about. Like a bit of sweetness he's shocked the desert hasn't burned away.  
  
"Party," he hums softly, nosing in to bite under his jaw.  
  
"Yeah, what is it?" Party murmurs.  
  
"I'm just... I don't know," he confesses. He kisses him again.  
  
"Some more is coming back, huh," Party says. "I remember that feeling."  
  
"Something I'm not sure I remember having before, really."  
  
"What's that?" Party asks brightly.  
  
"You, I guess. Color."  
  
Party smiles and shakes his hair back. "You like it."  
  
"I think I do," Korse agrees quietly.  
  
"Confession time, huh? That gets a reward," Party grins.  
  
"A reward, huh? Go on." Party tips his chin up and kisses him dirty. It really does feel like a reward. Korse hums his approval. He splays his hands over Party's spine and holds their hips together, skin of their bellies flush. It feels raw and close. "Ride me," Korse orders huskily.  
  
Party shivers; nods.  
  
"You're not too sore?" he murmurs.  
  
"Too sore? No." He grins brightly. Korse chuckles and sends one hand sliding down between his cheeks to stroke over his hole. The weak groan Party gives is enough to make him grin; grab for the lube slowly. "Yeah, c’mon," Party breathes.  
  
Korse takes his time to slick his fingers; press two into Party slowly and watch his face. Party's lashes flutter as his eyes go lidded.  
  
"Fuck--" he arches, grabbing at him, "thought you wanted me on top-"  
  
"So get on top," Korse smirks.  
  
Party grins; pushes him away and rolls them over in one neat movement. He guides his hand back as he settles over his hips, body stretching taut. "Didn't mean to interrupt you if you were getting into that," Party grins.  
  
"Considerate as always," Korse breathes, but he's too distracted kissing Party again; pressing back up into him, long strokes of his fingers.   
  
Party rocks down into it, humming with pleasure. He can't find a retort, he's already shivering, clutching. "Your hands," he breathes.  
  
"Your hands, right now."   
  
Party kisses up the side of his neck. He's breathing fast already, hard and hot, and Korse can't get enough of how alive he feels. He's ready again, despite everything they've already done. "C'mon," Korse breathes, fucking him harder with his fingers for a moment.  
  
"You gotta stop that if you want me to last," Party gasps.  
  
"Slut," Korse murmurs, voice strangely affectionate.  
  
"Not right now," Party laughs.  
  
Korse shakes his head; withdraws his fingers and tugs Party closer, kissing him as he guides his hips. Party sinks down with a dirty little sigh.  
  
"Korse- fuck, yeah-"  
  
Korse's fingers tighten on his hips. His face is too gorgeous. He looks smug even like this, smile evident even with closed eyes and loose jaw. He's tight and hot and everything Korse could want. He doesn't know how he never realized until now. Party meets his eyes, grinding down.  
  
"Fuck, Party-" Korse frames his jaw with one hand, watches him as he rocks up harder to meet his movements, floored by the intensity.  
  
"Fuck, K, I could do this forever."  
  
"No complaints here-" Korse admits.  
  
"Aww," Party says, eyes going soft. Korse bites his lip to shut him up when he kisses him. That just makes Party whimper, jerk his hips down faster. It's so good. He tips his head back. "Fuck- touch me-"  
  
Korse wraps a hand around Party's cock, loosely. "Like this?"  
  
"Fuck- yes, please-" Party tips his head back further, arching. He's so gorgeous. Korse wants to leave so many marks on him. He strokes him fast, watching him move fluidly between grinding on his cock and fucking into his fist.   
  
Party moans and Korse feels his own heart clench with surprising vehemence. "Come," he grits.  
  
Party tenses, jaw dropping. "K," he gasps, hips jerking.  
  
"Yes, come on," Korse strokes faster, eyes fixed on Party's face. Party whines and shudders, and it's only a moment more before he's coming, spilling over Korse's knuckles with a cry, body drawing tight.  
  
Korse sucks in a breath as he clenches around him. Even with his own end so imminent, he can't take his eyes off Party. Just watching his face slack and smooth with release is enough to make Korse groan. He holds Party's hips; kisses his throat as he starts to move again slowly. The heat of him, the tang of his skin, is too much to stand.  
  
"Party," he breathes, and the core heat of him is growing, getting hotter and brighter.  
  
"You gotta come too," Party gasps.  
  
Korse nods; keeps him close as he rolls them over, pushing Party's knees up against his chest, using the purchase to fuck him faster. Party moans and throws his head back.  
  
"You feel-" Korse stops himself going any further; buries his face in Party's neck as he fucks himself to completion, Party gasping with the force. Korse keeps pressing his mouth against Party's skin to stop up the words, shudders running down his spine with every breath. He comes with a stifled groan, shivering at the intensity of it, Party's thighs quaking around his middle. Party wraps his arms tight around his neck.

"Holy fuck," he breathes, and Korse can't help but agree. He rolls off of Party, but Party follows, giving him more kisses. He smirks a bit; pulls him closer.   
  
"You are insufferable."  
  
"The more you protest, the more I know you like it," Party says.  
  
"Killjoy logic," Korse snipes, but he's smiling, cradling him close.  
  
Party bites his chin. "Only kind I got."  
  
"Serves you well."  
  
"Did you just call me logical? Thought you thought I was crazy."  
  
"I was being sarcastic."  
  
Party chuckles. "You are such an ass. So when is this thing we're doing gonna happen, K?"  
  
"Soon... Maybe a few days, it would make sense if sightings and stake outs were clustered. Your boys will agree?"  
  
"I can talk 'em into it. What about the deal?" he asks suddenly.  
  
Korse looks at him curiously. "What about it?"  
  
"You can't expect me to tell my guys they have to bust me out of a Drac convoy, but they can't use their blasters."  
  
"Haven't you ever heard of non-lethal force?"  
  
Party stares at him for a moment, then starts giggling. "Be serious."  
  
Korse rolls his eyes; noses against him. "I've seen you be non lethal and very effective. I trust you can be creative."  
  
"You're killing me," Party complains.  
  
"Where's your sense of sport, it'll be fun," Korse muses.  
  
"No, this is fun," Party mumbles against his jaw, biting and licking his way up to his ear.  
  
Korse huffs a soft breath and pushes him away gently by his chin. "I think four times is even outside of your capabilities, Party, never mind mine." Party's instant pout is hysterical. Korse kisses it, surprised by the pang of warmth in his gut. "I should go."  
  
Party sits up, shrugs. "Guess I should too."  
  
Korse watches him pull his jeans up slowly; watches the muscles in his back work. He sits up and presses his lips to the back of Party's knotted shoulder. "Don't forget the food," he murmurs.  
  
"As if," Party smiles and stands to fasten his jeans, searching for his t-shirt, the one Korse doesn't recognize. He doesn't know why the thought of not having seen Party put it on irks him. Surely it's wrong to feel that way.   
  
"Anything else you need from the City?" he asks.  
  
"Batteries," Party answers immediately, "gasoline."  
  
"I'll give you some of my emergency supply before you leave, but it won't be much."  
  
"You're a peach."  
  
"Aren't I?" Korse pushes himself to his feet and starts collecting his own clothing. Party meets him with his waistcoat; helps him shrug it on.  
  
"Pretty close," he murmurs. His smile is small and secret. He holds and buttons like a technicolor parody of a valet.  
  
Korse watches his hands; feels sick at the thought of slipping back to reality. Party will be going with a set of rope marks on his wrists, at least. They show even beyond the cuffs of his jacket. Without thinking, he takes hold of one; examines the bruises. He looks at Party, almost questioning.  
  
"Yeah?" Party says, tilting his head.  
  
"Was it- too much?"  
  
"Dontcha think I would have complained?" Party laughs.  
  
Korse nods, then kisses the inside of his wrist gently. "Come on, we better hurry." Party finishes cramming the food back into the bag. Korse waves it off when Party tries to hand it to him. "Don't play coy, it's for you."  
  
"All right," Party murmurs, and stuffs his feet into his boots to trail Korse through the motel. "When is this gonna happen, then?"  
  
"I'll need a few days at least. How can I contact you?" Korse asks.  
  
Party looks dubious. "There's a mailbox..."  
  
"I know the mailbox. Think I can get anywhere near it without getting shot?"  
  
"You can if you send someone else, I thought you were clever?"  
  
Korse pauses by the door. "If I had someone I trusted."  
  
"Say you're setting a trap," Party rolls his eyes. "Then you catch me, and the trap worked." He leans in, stretching on his toes for a kiss. "You're such a dumbass, K."  
  


Despite the insult, Korse accepts the kiss. "Apparently." He tugs at Party's fringe. "Check the mailbox."  
  
"Every day," Party agrees. He dips his head to further the tug on his hair, then gives Korse a gentle shove, "go, before I beg you to stay."  
  
Korse pulls him in for another kiss, and Party whines. Korse has to clench his fists and stalk off to his car. He feels Party watch him from the shadow of the doorway; he leaves a stack of batteries and one of his gas cans but doesn't dare look back until he's in his car. As he tears away from the motel, he sees a flash of red as Party collects the goods. He abuses the accelerator to keep from turning back.


	5. Chapter 5

Party loads the goods into the Trans Am's trunk disbelievingly. Does Korse know the value of what he dropped on Party like it was nothing? He figures not.   
  
He waits a while, then heads back to the gas station: he said he'd go there when he was done, however long that would be. He's not all that stoked for the guys' reactions to the state he's in, especially Ghoul's. Especially since he's not sure he can hide how pleased he is about the whole thing.  
  
As he heads in, he decides to lead with the positives; hauls the gas up onto the breakfast bar and slaps the batt packs down next to it. "Shitting fuck," Ghoul says, which is pretty much par for the course.  
  
"Right?" Party grins. "And check this out." He dumps the backpack. Ghoul catches his wrist and stares. Party shoves an apple at him. "Produce, shithead."  
  
Successfully distracted, if only for a moment, Ghoul takes the backpack and apple and balks a little. "Jesus, Party..."  
  
"Eat your vitamins, Ghoul." Party crosses his arms across his chest self-consciously. Ghoul empties the pack out beside the batteries and gas and stares at the contents, expression mixed.  
  
"That's a shitload of stuff," Jet says, coming up beside him and stealing a piece of jerky. "You get all that from Dr. Freeze?"  
  
"Yeah," Party nods.  
  
"What'd you do to get it?" Ghoul asks, seemingly before he can stop himself.  
  
Party raises an eyebrow at him. "It was a present." It's sort of true. Their arrangement doesn't say shit about supplies.  
  
"Some present. Must think something of you. Wonder if he knows what a heartbreaker you are." Helping himself to an apple, Ghoul moves away, looking more than perturbed.  
  
"You assume he has one," Party grumbles.  
  
"Assumed you had one too, shows what I know."  
  
"Uh," Jet pipes awkwardly, "Ghoul, there's enough gas to last us two weeks there, I think maybe you should quit bitching."  
  
Party wants to go nuzzle him into submission. There's a pretty good chance he'll get punched if he gets within arm's reach.  
  
"Sure, I quit," Ghoul murmurs. He disappears into the workshop. Party doesn't mean to meet Jet's eyes, but he does. He looks... Worried.  
  
"Got something to say?" Party asks.  
  
"Do you?" Jet tilts his head, unintimidated.  
  
"Think I already said it. I'm doing business, and it's my business. But... I'm going to need help with something."  
  
"Shoot," Jet nods.  
  
"In a couple days, I'm going to need you boys to spring me from a Drac convoy."  
  
Several different shades of panic flit across Jet's face. He settles on one that seems close to heart attack. "Sorry?"  
  
"I'm gonna get captured. I need you three and whoever else you can rope in to bust me out."  
  
"How about you just don't...?" Jet seems confused now.  
  
"Because it's for him," Ghoul cuts in, from the workshop doorway. Party sighs. He knows they'll agree in the end, because they always do, but apparently Ghoul's gonna be an asshole about it first.   
  
"Thought you were off sulking," he snaps.  
  
"I heard you proposing something else liable to get you and all of us spirited away, forgive me if I consider that my business," he snarls back.  
  
"Like we haven't done it before, easy-peasy. It's a setup, Ghoul, to get them off his - my - back."  
  
"It's a fucking set up all right, you wanker," Ghoul is seething now, fists clenching like he's resisting grabbing Party and shaking, "he's not going to let you go. Not in a million years."  
  
"If Party says he is, he will." Party hadn't even known Kobra was here, but he pipes up from the kitchen.  
  
"He's different, Ghoul," Party adds, urgency creeping in under the calm, "I mean it. He stopped taking his meds."  
  
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Ghoul asks him.  
  
"No, but it shows this hasn't all been voluntary, okay?"  
  
"Why do you have to be this way?" Ghoul groans; that tells Party he's not going to keep arguing. But he's visibly unhappy.  
  
"Because I'm so fucking close, Ghoul, I mean it. The head exterminator is eating out of my fucking palm, okay? BLI are drugging their citizens and law enforcement into submission, and I got probably the most influential motherfucker in the place fucking into me, okay? We could fucking tip it, Ghoul! If I have to put us in danger to do that, then I have to."  
  
"It's not like we aren't always in danger," Jet adds philosophically. Ghoul glares.  
  
"You say you're using him- but what if he's letting you, Party?" He tries, weakly, to make him see reason one last time. "What if he knows what a romantic son of a bitch you are and this is a ploy to stab you in the back?"  
  
"Romantic," Party scoffs.   
  
Ghoul snarls. "Fine, I've had fucking enough."

He grabs Party by the wrist and hauls him out back of the gas station. Party steels himself: Ghoul has punched him out in the past. His wrist is throbbing. Ghoul is squeezing fucking hard.  
  
"Ghoul, what the fuck-?"  
  
"You're falling for him," Ghoul snarls, shoving him up against the building and glowering.  
  
"Fuck- listen to yourself, Ghoul, you sound like a fucking crazed husband."  
  
"Maybe I fucking do, but it's fucking insulting, Party. If you were bored there were a million other ways you coulda told me to fuck off."  
  
"I'm not fucking bored, I'm fucking saving us-!" Party is yelling before he can school himself to keep calm, but it feels good, in the face of Ghoul's spitting rage. "And I don't want you to fuck off, asshole! Not even now, which is a fucking fete!"  
  
"What, so you just want both? You want me to just watch you come back, covered in his fucking marks, and be happy that you still want mine?"  
  
"I guess that's too much to ask," Party mumbles, trying to push Ghoul away without looking at him.  
  
"Party-" Ghoul shoves him back, eyes frantic, "just fucking tell me the truth, are you- do you fucking want him?"  
  
Party's gut clenches. He doesn't like telling the truth. But if anyone deserves it, it's Ghoul. "I- I don't know, it's complicated," he tries.  
  
"It's a yes or no question," Ghoul glares.  
  
"It's not-! It's complicated! It's like you and that chick in Two, you like it when you see her but that doesn't stop you wanting to come home to me- y'know?"  
  
Ghoul scowls. "You comparing her to the Head Exterminator?"  
  
"She's pretty scary?" Party hazards.  
  
"I am going to punch you in your fucking face," Ghoul says, calmly, which means he's probably going to actually do it.  
  
"Okay, but can you kiss it better afterwards?"  
  
He sees Ghoul pulls his fist back and closes his eyes. The punch is harder than he expected; enough to send him reeling into the sand. He's gonna have a black eye. Ghoul probably planned that.  
  
"Fuck-!" He grits, trying to take a moment to gather himself; to let his head stop spinning. "You feel better now, you fucking baby?"  
  
"No," Ghoul grumbles.  
  
"So do it again," Party stands up, brushing himself off.  
  
"No," Ghoul sighs, cracking his knuckles.  
  
"Baby," Party needles again, rubbing his eye.  
  
"You are an idiot and you're going to die. And then I'll try to get revenge and die too. That's how this ends, isn't it?"  
  
"Probably. Hell of a folk tale though." Party shrugs.  
  
"Course you fucking see it that way." Ghoul tries to turn away and it's Party's turn to grab him.  
  
"It's not, I'm just- trying to diffuse your weird jealous rage. Ghoul, I love you, you dumbfuck. Punch me as much as you need to, I'm not gonna change my mind about that ...or anything else."  
  
Ghoul does punch him again then, hard across the mouth. He looks like maybe he does feel a little better at Party's 'oof' of pain.  
  
"I don't know how many more free shots I'm gonna give you," Party tells him, spitting blood onto the sand.  
  
"As many as I want, you always do, you weirdo," Ghoul grumbles. He grabs his face gently though; kisses his bloody mouth with enough force that Party smacks him hard to make him ease up.  
  
"I said kiss it better, not worse."  
  
"Shut up," Ghoul kisses him again, but it's a little gentler this time. He pushes Party back up against the wall, leaning up against him. He tastes like copper and apple juice.  
  
"You know, you call me an asshole, but you're no peach hip yourself," Party slurs.  
  
"I know," Ghoul says.  
  
"I still love you though, more than anything," he promises.  
  
"You have terrible taste," Ghoul replies.  
  
"Yeah, a murderer and a shithead." He cups Ghoul's cheeks and gives him a few gentle kisses.  
  
"Which one am I?" Ghoul wonders with a slight grin.  
  
"Doesn't matter, does it? Tell me you'll help me, Ghoul, I need you."  
  
"What if it's a fucking trick?" Party can usually get what he wants out of Ghoul, but he's turned on the fucking brown eyes and Party wants to puke with how gooey it makes him.  
  
"I. Um. Didn't tell you the rest of it," he mumbles. "We. We can't kill anybody."  
  
The brown eyes abruptly retract. "What the -fuck-?"  
  
"It's part of the deal!"   
  
"Then you suck at making deals, you crazy fucker. What do we get out of this? No wait, it was already nothing so now it's even less than nothing!"  
  
"We get relative impunity, and a false trail, us, and ours. We get a top guy in the City in my pocket. And he wants to be there, which is a thousand times better than whatever half-ass bribes everybody else has going."  
  
"Pocket, is that what you're calling it," Ghoul grouses, and Party shoves him gently, "fuck, fine, Jesus."  
  
"Didn't you miss me, Ghoul? Tell me you missed me."  
  
"Yeah, I fucking missed you, you prick, I've been worried sick." Ghoul closes his hands around Party's wrists again. "Can tell you were having a good time."  
  
  
Not bothering to hide it, Party consoles himself with looking fractionally guilty. He lets Ghoul look; watches the dusty wind stir his lank hair. He looks soft and dark in the dawn light. He's really beautiful, is the problem. Party is easy in general but especially for him.  
  
"He coulda really fucked you up, Party..." Ghoul doesn't even sound angry now, just worried. "You gotta be careful..."  
  
"Takes the fun out of it," Party grumbles.  
  
Giving up on reproaching him, Ghoul kisses the mark on his wrist and tugs him back toward the door. "C'mon. Tell me how we're gonna get you arrested."  
  
"The Robocop's gonna arrest me. Somewhere nice and public. And when he calls the goon squad to take me in, that's when you get me un-arrested."  
  
"So I guess you at least have to get inside the city..." Ghoul mumbles, thinking. Jet and Kobra are at the counter still, pretending not to be listening to gage the result of their time out.  
  
"At least the Lobby," Party agrees.  
  
"And so... We realize you've got caught, and give chase? Seems like something a bunch of dumbfucks would do."  
  
"They don't exactly have the highest opinion of us in Bat City, F.G."  
  
"I'm just saying they'll know it's a ruse."  
  
"Korse doesn't think so."   
  
Jet and Kobra's eyes swivel to Fun Ghoul like they're watching a duel. "Jet does," Ghoul shoots back.  
  
"Hey!" Jet protests.  
  
"Come on, Jet, doesn't us hauling ass to BC, all guns blazing, with all our main allies and friends, scream fucking dumb as shit to you?? Oh no," he giggles, "wait, I forgot, he says no shooting."  
  
Now Jet does look faintly alarmed. "No shooting?"  
  
"No killing!" Party corrects.  
  
Kobra just crosses his arms over his chest and looks disgusted. "You're fucked in the head," he says flatly.  
  
Ghoul raises an eyebrow at Party. "See?"  
  
Even confident as he is that they'll do anything he asks, Party is starting to see his point. "Okay- then I need someone to help me get out of the city alone."  
  
"Or, crazy thought, you could just not do it," Jet says.  
  
"I can't not do it, it's important. Come on, there must be a sewer, a fucking waste pipe or something- some way I can get out without having to take a bazooka."  
  
"I know where you could stick one to smuggle it in," Ghoul mutters.  
  
"Wouldn't be enough to satisfy me," Party says cattishly.   
  
Jet rolls his eyes. Kobra looks like he might puke, but he rubs his neck and says, "I'll go visit the Doc for some updated maps."  
  
"I'll come with you," Jet says quickly. It's almost touching, really. Party looks at Ghoul.   
  
"You going too?" he asks sweetly.  
  
"I don't know, will I come back and find Robocop in my bed?"  
  
"Don't you wanna stay?" Party sing-songs.  
  
Ghoul's eyes flash. He sits down stubbornly.  
  
"Yeah," Kobra says, grabbing his jacket. "We're gone." The door slams, and Party glares at Ghoul.  
  
"I thought you were done being a shithead, Ghoul."  
  
"My mistake," he snaps back.  
  
"Maybe you should go to *your* bed," Party replies.  
  
Ghoul is silent for a long moment, just rubbing a hand over his face, then he sighs. "You know what I was fucking saying."  
  
"Yeah, and I don't remember ever declaring myself your fucking property." Slumping down next to him, Party bumps their shoulders. "I know you're scared, Ghoul, but you gotta trust me."  
  
"I do, I really fucking do," Ghoul murmurs.  
  
"So quit ragging my ass about it..."  
  
"Can't," Ghoul sighs. "Not used to...."   
  
"What, sharing my ass? Were you in a coma all the times I went out hooking for our fucking gas and dinner, dumbass?"  
  
"No, but that was different."  
  
"How?"  
  
"I knew you didn't want to."  
  
"Pretty sure at least a few of those times I did," Party huffs.  
  
Ghoul heaves a breath. "Right."  
  
Party pushes, "And that guy in Five, the one you wanted me to fuck right in front of you?"   
  
"I was wasted," Ghoul mutters.  
  
"Point is, you're only mad about it because you didn't decide it was okay," Party concludes.  
  
"I hate you," Ghoul says.  
  
"Well, I love you." Party tugs on a ragged piece of Ghoul's hair. When he turns his chin, he presses in to kiss his stubborn mouth. "You're my favorite shithead," Party tells him.  
  
Ghoul doesn't say anything, just takes his hand and squeezes. "None of us deserve you, anyway."  
  
"What?"  
  
Ghoul sighs. "No one is good enough for you," he repeats quietly.  
  
"I still don't know what the fuck you're talking about," Party says, failing to keep the slight irritation out of his voice. Ghoul either means it as an insult or a baleful admission that Party is right and he doesn't like either.  
  
Ghoul doesn't answer, though, and the sight of his turned-away face and dirty jaw makes Party lean in, chasing whatever Ghoul is reluctant to give.

"Come on, baby," he murmurs, and now it's affection rather than criticism, "you and the boys are my everything. You're everything I want."  
  
"Liar," Ghoul says, but he leans in anyway.  
  
"You are," Party promises. It's sort of sickening, that he doesn't want to give Korse up either, but he isn't stupid, he knows where his loyalties lie.  
  
Ghoul sighs again, and turns back toward Party. "I still hate you," he mumbles.  
  
"Sure you do." He punches Ghouls arm gently. "C'mon, kiss me."  
  
Ghoul presses his face against Party's neck instead, kissing his throat. He hums regardless; pets his hair. Ghoul will make his move when he's ready.  
  
"Love you," he mumbles against Party's shoulder. His lips travel up to Party's ear, then down his jaw.  
  
He tangles a hand in his hair. "Ghoul..."  
  
Ghoul shushes him. "Just gimme a minute."  
  
"Take as many as you want," he mumbles.   
  
Ghoul's rubbing their cheeks together like a fuckin' cat, but he doesn't care. He just waits. Party smooths a hand up his neck, shivering at the contact. He pulls back, pulls a baggie of tablets out of the pocket of his vest, and shows it to Party. "Wanna?"  
  
Party takes the bag off him; picks two pills and holds them out. "Open up." Ghoul opens obediently and lets Party place the tablet on his tongue.  
  
Party hums and places the other on his own tongue, grinning. "You're my favorite," he coos.  
  
"Sure I am," Ghoul replies, but he's grinning softly now.  
  
Party sighs happily as he waits for the chemicals to hit, running his hands up and down Ghoul's arms. When he catches his mouth in a kiss, his hands still. Ghoul leans into him, just like always. He's calm now again, going limp like he does when he's given in. He threads his fingers into Party's hair, holding them together. Party readily stays tied there, humming his content into his mouth. He could stand to lose a lot, but not his guys.  
  
"Want a drink?" he says with a grin.  
  
"Of what," Ghoul murmurs against his neck. X always makes him touchy-feely when it starts to kick in.  
  
"Water," Party says, "or some of Jet's weird booze."  
  
"Both," Ghoul says hopefully. "In bed."  
  
"Bed," Party grins at the joke, "okay sugar. Let's go." Ghoul barely stirs to let him move. Party's head is starting to buzz. "C'mon," he coaxes gently, pulling him up, toward the mattress. He makes sure Ghoul is settled and hurries to grab some bottles. When he gets back, he's weaving a little, head light. "Make some room, sugar," he says.  
  
Ghoul shuffles obligingly, reaching out for him. Party hands him a bottle instead, settling himself against the wall and running his fingers through Ghoul's hair. Ghoul curls into him immediately, leaning his head against his chest. He takes a sip, then mumbles.  
  
"Party?"  
  
"Yeah, baby?"  
  
"Do you remember your name?" Ghoul murmurs.  
  
Party frowns. "Why?"  
  
"'Cause I don't remember mine, I don't think," Ghoul says absently, "I dunno what happened, I think I just... If I think hard I think I'd know but... I think it was that grenade in Five, y'know..."  
  
Party shudders. "I remember that, yeah."  
  
"Yeah, and I just... There's some stuff I forgot. I mean I don't mind, I guess it doesn't matter but... I guess I just wondered."  
  
Party takes a sip of the booze. "I remember."  
  
Letting out a soft 'huh', Ghoul takes another swig from the bottle and pulls a face. "What even is this shit Jet made? What's it even meant to be?"  
  
"Rum?" Party offers. "I dunno. It's worse than usual."  
  
"It's foul," Ghoul agrees, then holds the bottle up for Party. As soon as Party takes it, Ghoul slithers down farther.  
  
"You're fucked already, aren't you?" Party grins and takes a sip. He kind of is too.  
  
"Been a while," Ghoul says, tugging at Party's waistband.  
  
"Oh yeah?" He strokes through his hair again; tugs gently. "That what you need?"  
  
Ghoul nods. He hums when Party tugs his head back to kiss him. Party's a dirty kisser, but more so when he's on something. He bites his lip and feels Ghoul melt against him. "You feel like the best drugs, baby," he murmurs.  
  
"Flatterer." A grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. Party runs his fingers through Ghoul's hair again, tracing the shells of his ears, his jaw. "Pretty dirt prince," he coos, then pushes him over onto his back, crawling on top of him to kiss him deep and messy.  
  
Ghoul whines his name, hips lifting. Party settles between his knees, starting to rock against him slowly as he licks behind his teeth. It feels good, even sore as he is. He always likes it when he's oversensitive anyway, it feels louder.  
  
Ghoul gets fistfuls of his hair and rocks up harder. Party shoves a hand under one of the flat pillows and rummages for lube, starting to pant softly. Ghoul's getting impatient. He tips Party off to the side and unfastens his jeans, fingers still nimble. Party is back on him in seconds, tugging them off him, going to shove his own down. He wants all of Ghoul's skin, wants to taste him all. He feels warm, nearly feverish, and whether that's chemicals or something else, it makes him clutch and squirm. They kiss again, all teeth and tongue, and then Party shifts to wrap slick fingers around Ghoul's cock; strokes gently.  
  
"Shit, yeah," Ghoul groans, bucking up into it.  
  
"Fuck- so pretty," he strokes him faster, firmer, biting at his jaw. "My pretty boy, look at you, you like that, don't you? Fuck, Ghoul, I think I want your mouth," Party says hopefully.  
  
Ghoul looks reluctant to let Party stop jerking him off but he wets his lips even so, nodding and letting out a weak groan. "Lie down--" Party stretches out on his back, smirking. "King Rat," Ghoul mutters, and whether it's an insult or just a drug ramble, Party doesn't know, but he doesn't mind so much either, not when Ghoul is moving over him; kissing his throat with purpose. "Y'have no idea how much I think about this," he tells Party's collarbones.  
  
"Mmm, tell me what you think about-" Party arches, unashamed of his vanity, as always.  
  
"Your dirty-ass neck. Biting your ribs and your hipbones." Ghoul's breathing fast now.  
  
"Yeah?" Party tips his head back and whines. "And then what-?"  
  
Ghoul hums, mouth traveling down to do the things he's mentioned. He hovers over Party's hips, breath hot. "Sucking your stupid dick until you cry," he grins.  
  
"Dare ya to try," Party smirks.  
  
"I'll take that bet."  
  
"Can't make me come if you want me to fuck you," Party reminds him, stretching lazily.  
  
"That's not the objective anyway," Ghoul grins.  
  
Party flips him off. "Fucker."  
  
"Not this time," Ghoul corrects, and he dips his head; licks slowly under the head of his cock for a moment and then down. Party groans happily, quickly threads his hands into Ghoul's hair and arches. The dirty little fucker takes Party down his throat immediately.  
  
"Fuck-" Party whines, "that's totally cheating."   
  
Ghoul soothes his thumbs over Party's hipbones. He's sucking fast and wet, hair tickling Party's hips as he moves. "Dirty little cocksucker," Party says admiringly. Ghoul hums in agreement; runs a hand up his thigh. He digs his nails in a little. Party hisses. "Motherfucker, you wanna get fucked?"  
  
Ghoul pulls off instantly. "Party," he pleads.  
  
"Then stop trying to make me come--" Party laughs, grabbing at his hair again, "come on, game off, wanna fuck you--"  
  
Ghoul smirks. "Fine by me, I get what I want either way."  
  
"Shut up you smug fuck-" Party shoves him over. Ghoul rolls them back, and they wrestle with teeth bared for a moment or two before settling down with Party wrapped around Ghoul's back, biting at his ear and reaching down behind his balls to rub at his hole.  
  
"You're so fucking cute," he mutters against his jaw, stroking, teasing at a press.  
  
"Cute," Ghoul gasps when Party pushes in a bit harder.  
  
"So cute," Party keens, and he pulls away to grab for the lube; presses back when his fingers are wet and pushes one finger in slowly, "pretty and angry and so- fucking- cute-" Ghoul makes a sound that's half growl and half moan. Mostly moan, as Party's finger sinks another knuckle deep. "God- you're so- fuck," he presses deeper, pulling out again gently and then fucking back in.  
  
"What," Ghoul pants.  
  
"-Cute-," Party groans.  
  
"Kittens are cute, you fuck. Do something," Ghoul complains, pushing back into Party's hand.  
  
"You're a fucking kitten then," Party giggles and meets the rock of his hips with another finger, sliding both in deep and winding an arm under his neck to keep him close as he starts to fuck him. "I love you, you cute little jerk. Fuck, you feel so tight. You're going to be so tight around my cock," Party babbles, sparks climbing up and down his veins. He feels Ghoul's moan against his arm; whines when Ghoul grips at his flank.   
  
"Party- stop fucking around-"  
  
"What, like you were earlier? You deserve it." Party just can't shut up when he's buzzed like this. He fucks him faster but not harder, grinning into his hair when he growls in frustration. He waits a few more thrusts to add another finger. When he does, it's slowly. Ghoul grabs at his hair over his shoulder and jerks back, teeth ground.   
  
"Party-" he warns.  
  
"You like it, pretty, you like my hands, don't pretend." Party leans into the grasp on his hair and bites at Ghoul's neck.  
  
Like your cock more--" he groans, tugging harder. His other hand is clenched white knuckled against the mattress.  
  
"Relax, FG, you're supposed to be having fun." He beckons his fingers deeply in example and giggles when Ghoul yanks harder on his hair, body going bow taut.  
  
"Do I have to fuckin' beg?" he moans.  
  
"You can if you think it'll help," Party purrs.  
  
"Bastard," Ghoul replies. "Please, fuck, I need it! I'm gonna explode, you don't want that, you want me, I know you do -"  
  
"Yeah, I want you," Party hums, and he makes a gentle twisting motion as he fucks him slickly, gentle bites against his ear and jaw, "but I love fingering you so bad- hold on for me Ghoul, I know you can-"  
  
Ghoul twists his head back, searching for Party's mouth. Party obliges him with a kiss, his grip on his shoulder tightening as he fucks him harder, long thrusts of his fingers punctuated by searching strokes.   
  
Ghoul whines, hips quivering. His own rhythm falters, taken over by reaction to Party's stroking. He shakes for what feels like forever, panting hard against Party's mouth, and then his fingers abruptly withdraw. A moment later Party presses the head of his cock against him instead, cool and slick with more lube. He teases for a moment, rubbing over Ghoul without thrusting.  
  
"Fuck- please-" Ghoul groans.  
  
"Polite. Sort of." Party laughs and lines back up, pressing in slowly.  
  
"Holy fuck-"  
  
"That's right, baby. Fuck, knew you'd feel good. Been a little while." Party cradles Ghoul close against his chest while he rocks his hips, panting at the heat, need. He kisses his neck weakly. Ghoul reaches back to grab at Party's hip.  
  
Fuck- Party," he keens, failing to keep a grin from emerging. This is what he needed. He needs Party in him, around him, on him, with him...thinking about him. Maybe that's selfish. He's too high to care. So high he barely notices when Party pushes him onto his front, but he feels his teeth in his nape; feels the rough snap of his hips, easier now with the leverage. "More like it," he gasps into the pillow, arching up into it.  
  
Party fists a hand in his hair and shoves his cheek against the mattress, teeth gritted with the force of his hips. Every thrust jolts him and reminds him how sore he is, but it feels right.

Fucking Ghoul always feels right, the scent of his skin and the sounds he makes. Party curls over his back to kiss him with heat, shoving into him unrelentingly. Ghoul likes it rough. It always makes Party hot. He's crying out with every rock now, panting ragged moans and pleas. Party could listen forever.  
  
Party can't usually last this long; he feels smug underneath the head-spinning tingle of the pills. He curls a hand under Ghoul to stroke him; licks under his ear and murmurs. "That what you wanted, baby?"  
  
"Yeah, Party, baby - yeah," he sighs.  
  
Party jerks him fast, off beat with the motions of his hips, faltering a little now. Ghoul's hair sticks to his sweaty cheeks. He's slack jawed and breathless, body getting tighter, need starting to boil under his skin. "Party," he moans, muscles flexing.  
  
"Yeah-? Gonna come?"  
  
"Almost. So bright," he babbles. Bright and sharp, Party, like your hair, like -"  
  
"Like us," Party keens, stroking him harder, "come on baby show me- wanna see you-"  
  
Ghoul gasps raggedly and Party feels him clench. He comes with a full body shudder, against his own belly and on the mattress, groaning long and hard. Party fists his hair in his hand and braces himself with the other, snaps his hips.   
  
"Oh fuck yeah-" Ghoul gasps again, tipping his head back, "come on Party, come in me--"  
  
Party kisses sloppily down his cheek to his ear and keeps thrusting until his vision whites out. They slump down onto the mattress then, sweat slick and gasping. Ghoul is shaking faintly from the exertion. Party fumbles for a bottle of water and hands it to him, cradling him close to his chest.  
  
"Fuck, thanks..." Ghoul takes a long draught, passing it back when he's done. Party takes a sip, then sets it aside. Ghoul's still draped across his chest. He doesn't mind. It feels good to have him close. It's definitely an improvement on the shoving and punching.  
  
"Little asshole," he mutters fondly at the thought, rubbing his cheek absently. He grabs at the scratty blankets to pull them some semblance of over them. The alarms Jet and Ghoul have rigged around the perimeter are enough to let him sleep for a while longer. Ghoul seems pretty content to doze too, buzzed and satisfied and for now, marginally less belligerent. He's sweet when he's not actively being an asshole. Party wouldn't have him any other way. He kisses his nasty hair and settles, wiped.  
  
When he wakes up, he realizes his dreams were all about Korse. Ghoul is gone, probably in the workshop, and it takes Party a moment to gather himself before he can get up, tug his jeans on. He shakes his head at the thought and pulls his t-shirt on. "Fun Ghoul?"  
  
"Yeah," Ghoul calls back.  
  
"Jesus, waking me up before you go back to building explosives too much like commitment for you?" Party leans against the doorframe, grinning a bit. He still feels a bit shaken. Also a little flushed.  
  
"No safer time for you to grab some extra sleep," Ghoul points out. He's wearing the old glasses they'd scrounged out of someplace and poking at a tangle of wires.  
  
"I don't need it," Party argues, "I'm pretty enough."  
  
"Hah," Ghoul says, but he flicks a look up and down Party's body anyway.  
  
Party sidles over, draping himself over his shoulder, nosing behind his ear. "You know it's true."  
  
"Maybe," Ghoul grumbles.  
  
"Shut up, you can't have a big jealous fit over my bit of rough and then pretend to be indifferent," Party giggles, snagging one of Ghoul's hands as he reaches for a screwdriver and lacing their fingers.  
  
"Can't I? Maybe I'm embarrassed," Ghoul replies.  
  
"Don't be, I'd be the same."  
  
"Jealous?" Ghoul murmurs questioningly.  
  
"Yeah, jealous. Jealous of anyone who touches you," Party tells him. "I'd kill anybody who hurt you."  
  
"Not before I did," Ghoul says. He still looks a little sullen.  
  
Party kisses the side of his neck. "Baby," he whispers. "Let's not do this again, I'm running out of eyes for you to punch."  
  
Ghoul shrugs; nods. "'Kay. When are you seeing him again?"  
  
"Dunno. Have to wait for word on the capture operation."  
  
"Gosh, sounds vague. Hope you can wait that long," Ghoul doesn't even try to sound unfazed.  
  
"Whaddaya want me to say, FG?" Party sighs.  
  
Ghoul sighs; rubs his eyes. "I'm sorry. I'm just- i don't know how to... It sounds scary. I don't trust him."  
  
"I know that, Ghoul." Party lets go of him, hoisting himself onto the counter instead. "M'not blowing you off, I promise, but -"  
  
"But you do," Ghoul finishes. Party tilts his head, agreeing without actually agreeing. "So it doesn't matter what I think."  
  
Party looks down at his dirty knees. He thought they'd already finished this argument.  
  
Ghoul just sighs and carries on working. He knows it's a carousel no one can get off, but he's not sure he can deal with Party muttering about their nemesis in his sleep. Looking at Party's pretty, dumb face isn't helping. "Sorry," he offers again, sheepish.  
  
Party smiles, lightning change of mood like always. "What's the bomb for, pretty boy?"  
  
"Figured I better make something non-lethal to get your ass out of prison," Ghoul mumbles.  
  
Party grins. "Smoke bomb?"  
  
"You know it."  
  
"You're the best. Think the boys will be back soon?" Party squints out a dirty window.  
  
"Yeah, they sent word earlier."  
  
"Did you eat?" Party asks. "Or should we wait?"  
  
"Nah, not like it's a family thing is it?" Ghoul grins distractedly at his bomb. "Any more chips?"  
  
"I'll check," Party says, slipping off the counter.  
  
"Maybe some water?" Ghoul hedges again.  
  
"What am I, your manservant?" Party teases.  
  
"You owe me so much worse than to get me some water and chips," Ghoul shoots back, but he's smiling wryly. Party drapes over his shoulders to kiss him, in an unusually affectionate mood. "What?" Ghoul grouses, but there's no real temper behind it.  
  
"Just wanna make sure you don't miss me too much while I'm in the other room."  
  
"Not something I'm concerned about," Ghoul teases.  
  
Party flips him off and slinks back out to the main gas station. He feels a quiet sense of sourness curling in his belly. He doesn't like it when Ghoul stays grumpy. He will have to work harder at making him forget it, and he doesn't like that. He grumbles a bit to himself as he gets chips and water. Korse never seems to have any issues with jealousy, at least. Maybe Korse doesn't know about him and Ghoul. It's hard to imagine that there's anything that isn't in that file of his, though. He figures he'll ask him.


	6. Chapter 6

This time, when the Chairwoman calls Korse into her office, he has a report of sightings to give her - mostly manufactured, but enough backed up by surveillance to seem plausible. He also has an action plan revolving around coded messages in the mailbox, which she, surprisingly, favors. Korse thinks she fancies herself a spymaster.  
  
He busies himself with the intricacies of making it look like he's tracking Party's movements. In reality, he's mostly watching him on surveillance footage and trying not to imagine his nasally voice behind the fuzzy, silent footage.  
  
Trying, and largely failing. Party is never far from his thoughts. He carefully calculates Party's capture, shows the Chairwoman his plans. He's using the alias 'Pentacat', a known associate of the Killjoys but not so closely linked it would be suspicious to receive a message from her via the postbox. Korse is sure Party will have his people primed on the matter; if there's one thing he isn't, it's discreet. A Drac patrol takes the message to the mailbox. They only lose two on the way back, which suits him fine.  
  
It's set for a week's time. Two days later, the shit hits the fan. As much as Party likes to think it, he's not Korse's only problem. Some bright spark rebel decides to blow up one of the perimeter barriers of the city. Lots of people die, and security is cinched.   
  
Aside from giving him a lot of paperwork, this also momentarily knocks Party out of the unenviable position of the Chairwoman's priorities. She tells Korse to pull the mission for now, and to apprehend and violently murder the perimeter terrorists. Korse just hopes Party isn't involved. He's too busy sweeping Zone 1 to monitor Killjoy sightings. He sends him a cryptic rain check, even so.  
  
They find the rebels' hiding place after about a week of combing the desert, and then there are bodies to collect and intel to gather. He sends the dracs ahead with most of it. He needs to check in on them though, and that's when he spots Party on the horizon, right in Zone 1, red hair flying like a flag where he's stood on the top of an outcrop.  
  
What a fucking idiot. What does he think he's doing? Korse almost veers off the dirt road, he's so distracted. He scans for company, but he doesn't see anything anywhere nearby except for the rapidly receding plume of dust from the dracs, who've practically reached the city walls.  
  
He swings off the track, disabling his tracker. He'll claim it blinkered later. Everything's been malfunctioning since they found the last string of rebel booby-traps yesterday anyway. His car looks like shit. It hasn't made him any more inclined to go easy on them.  
  
He skids to a halt behind the cover of the rocks; swings the door open. "What the fuck are you doing out here?"  
  
"It wasn't me-" Party is skidding down the rock face, eyes wild.  
  
"No shit. We caught them." Korse leans against the car door and folds his arms.  
  
Party bounces off the floor and moves toward him, cat like as ever, eyes wary. "It wasn't anything to do with me. We had no idea."  
  
"Don't know if I believe you," Korse murmurs, though he's pretty sure Party is telling the truth. "Worried?"  
  
"About you," Party says weakly, and he looks around quickly before he's close, eyes wide, hands finding Korse's waist. "It's been forever," he complains.  
  
"It's been three weeks," Korse mutters, "you shouldn't be so close to the city, anyone could have seen you."  
  
"Nobody saw me, you think I'm bad at this? It's been three weeks, and I thought - I wanted to -" He makes a face and steps away, shoving his hands in the back pockets of his jeans.  
  
Korse tilts his head, then sighs in realization. "I wanted to see you too, Party," he says gently.  
  
Party peeks over his shoulder. "You did? I mean. Of course you did." He smirks. It's a really unconvincing smirk.  
  
Korse smirks too; snags his wrist and pulls him in. "Really. How's it feel not being public enemy number one right now?"  
  
"Bit lonely, really," Party grins, "you know how I feel about attention."  
  
"So you walked right up to the city walls looking for some?"  
  
"City walls are plenty far. And...yours. Specifically. That a problem?"  
  
"A little, what am I meant to do with you?" Korse says, looking around. "Hardly any abandoned motels around here."  
  
Party pulls a crumpled map out of his pocket. "Wanna put our heads together?"  
  
"Of course you have a fucking map," Korse laughs.  
  
"Hey, you have no idea what I did to get this. Ghoul was pissed. Almost as pissed as he'll be when I get back."  
  
"Not happy with your taste in men?" Korse feels his mouth twitch in a smirk.  
  
"Really not happy," Party says. "Doesn't want to share with the likes of you."  
  
Korse hums. "Tough call for you?"  
  
"He does what I say," Party brazens, a non-answer. That seems to trigger a more concrete smirk.  
  
"Oh, an easy call."  
  
Party frowns. "You happy to see me or what?"  
  
"I'm distracted," Korse says softly, not without apology, "I'm up to my eyeballs in shit and now I'm worried you're going to get caught. You shouldn't have come, Party, you should have waited for my mark."  
  
"M'not good at that," Party says. "Shit, K. I - thought maybe they caught you flushing your pills or something."  
  
"I'm sorry I couldn't explain more," Korse says, gently. It surprises Party, all that delicacy, after years of bared teeth and blank eyes.  
  
"You're not acting sorry," Party pouts.  
  
Rolling his eyes, Korse yanks him in by a handful of his shirt; kisses him quick and dirty. "Better?"  
  
"Little better." Party presses himself closer when Korse would have let him go. He kisses him again, this time deeper. "C'mon, K, let's find somewhere we can go," he whispers.  
  
"Like where?"  
  
"Look at the fucking map," Party urges softly. "I...need this."  
  
"I'm working," Korse says, though without much authority. He touches Party's cheek; strokes hair back behind his ear.  
  
"Please," Party begs. "I came all this way."  
  
"That the real reason you came?" Korse teases gently, but he grabs the map; fobs the passenger door of his car open. "Get in."  
  
Party bites his lip, then slides in. "Your car looks like shit."  
  
"Yes," crumpling the map back up and passing it back to Party, Korse closes his door. "Get the detainee mask out of the glovebox, get on the backseat, put it on, lie down and put your arms behind your back. Don't move until I tell you it's safe."  
  
"Are you fucking kidding me?"  
  
"No," Korse says absently, "there is a tunnel under the city that has extremely sparse security because it's designed for discretion. One of the routes goes to my home. I'm not sure my knees can take any more threadbare furniture."  
  
"Oh my god," Party says faintly. "You're insane. I'm insane."  
  
"Is that a no?" Korse grins faintly. Clearly his lack of medication is exposing his more reckless core.  
  
Party stares at him for a moment, then reaches for the mask. "Fine. Oh fuck, Ghoul's gonna kill me. Are you gonna kill me? I -"   
  
"Party," Korse urges, "try not to be dramatic. Get in the back and pretend you've been arrested."  
  
Party sighs and does what he says. It's going to be an uncomfortable ride. Thankfully, it's not a particularly long one. Korse is relatively quiet, and Party hears him relaying code about patrol delays and an ambush- that he's heading back to the city to recoordinate his plan. No one seems to question him. Party notices that he still has icy ineffability down to a science. It just makes him scarier. Party is dying to watch their route but has no idea what kind of trouble that would bring down on him - them. He hears Korse click off the telecom, silent for a moment, then the rumble of tires on loose, uneven dirt suddenly gives way to smooth and quiet.  
  
"We're entering the city now, Party. We shouldn't be seen, but stay low just in case. When I park the car, I'm going to get out and get you a jumpsuit from my trunk," he murmurs. "You'll wear it in the lift. My building has upgraded privacy controls, but -"  
  
"Like a Drac jumpsuit-?" Party interrupts.  
  
"Yes, Party." Korse sighs. "Is that a problem?"  
  
"The masks..." Party says uncertainly.  
  
"Have to be activated. I won't do that to you, Party."  
  
Party swallows. "Okay."  
  
Korse steers them through a maze of tunnels, some activated by a small handheld device. When he finally pulls to a stop, Party is a little sick, either from the motion or nerves. It's a long time since he's been in the city. He's certainly never been in this part.  
  
Korse gets out first; chucks the jumpsuit from the trunk and waits by the door, carefully scanning for security. When Party gets out of the car, it's hard not to laugh. He's moving awkwardly, like the suit is about to twist around him and not let go.  
  
"It's not alive, Party," Korse comments, not without fondness. "Now follow me. Not too closely. It's not far."  
  
"Right..." Party shoves on the Drac mask with visible reluctance. It's a bit upsetting to Korse, too, when he finally gets it on and starts trailing Korse to the access lifts.  
  
"How's it look?" Party asks glibly.  
  
"Horrid. Now be quiet," Korse shushes him. Party fails to stifle a snort of laughter, then immediately quiets when the elevator doors slide open and two Dracs glide out. Korse resists putting his hand off his blaster, but Party just follows him mutely.  
  
Korse engages the lift for his floor; doesn't speak. A few people filter on and off throughout their ride, but no one makes eye contact with the Head Exterminator. Party watches him through the holes in his mask; shivers at his expression, stomach churning. Despite his trust, he still feels a hint of trepidation. Ghoul could be right; this could be the real Korse.  
  
The doors open on the final floor; Korse checks down the corridor and signals for Party to follow. He opens a large, stately looking door with his palm against a sensor. As soon as they're inside, he sighs; turns to Party and yanks his mask up. "This really is horrid."  
  
"Smells that way too." Party flings it on the floor, looking around. "Nice digs, fuck."  
  
Korse sighs; starts to unzip the jumpsuit. "Perks of confiscating things from other people."  
  
"Shit, you really are stone-cold." Party's still nervous. Korse can tell how jumpy he is, but his eyes keep straying toward the kitchen.   
  
"I was, yes. Are you hungry?"  
  
Party shrugs one shoulder awkwardly. "Our last box of canned goods was rancid."  
  
"Come on. I'll make you something."  
  
"You cook?" Party asks, face going sharp with amusement.   
  
Korse sighs. "I value my privacy. So I avoid the public dining facilities. Thus, I cook." At Party's growing grin, his own face cracks. "Fuck off, Party."  
  
Party slinks over to the counter and slides onto one of the stools. "I'm gonna watch."  
  
"All right, make yourself useful and pour me a scotch then," Korse says, shrugging off his frock coat and opening the fridge.   
  
When he turns back Party's boggling at the bar too. "I don't remember the City being like this. You're fucking posh."  
  
"I'm not posh, I'm wealthy," Korse corrects, "being an exterminator is very lucrative. You have one too, Party, you need to relax."  
  
Party plunks two heavy-bottomed tumblers down on the cart and pours. "Ice?" he asks, all acid-sweet.  
  
"No, you don't put ice in whiskey, Party."  
  
"Well, I don't, because I haven't seen any in ten years," Party snarks. He takes a sip of his drink. "Goddamn."  
  
"Well, have some if you want." Korse hums, gesturing to the refrigerator. He watches Party closer as he approaches the fridge like it might bite him. He can't help but feel a little ashamed at how openly shocked Party is at his lifestyle. Clenching his teeth, he goes back to prepping food.  
  
Party comes back with a cup of ice, which he sets on the counter, leaning into Korse. "You sure this is okay?"  
  
"No, but I want it," Korse doesn't want to think too hard about why. Party watches him, then sighs and curls against his side. Korse can cook like this. He thinks.  
  
"This is so surreal," Party murmurs. "Can't believe I'm here." He can't keep still. Clinging to Korse isn't his style, though, so he stalks around the apartment.  
  
Korse watches him out of the corner of his eye, unsure of how to approach him. He isn't sure what came over him, to suggest this, but a part of him is thrilled at the sheer audacity of it. "You don't have any dietary restrictions, do you?" He keeps it tongue in cheek. He doesn't know what else to do.  
  
"If it's edible, or even nearly edible, I'll eat it," Party cackles. "I could tell you stories."  
  
"Go ahead," Korse grins, "I could do with a laugh."  
  
"Leather soup," Party says dramatically.  
  
"What the fuck?"  
  
"Hey, gotta do what you gotta do to not starve."  
  
"No." Korse shakes his head. "I need to know what you mean by leather soup."  
  
"You cut up a boot and boil it in water?" Party offers. "Maybe some potatoes for body? No?"  
  
Korse hesitates for a moment, then he catches Party as he walks by; pulls him in and kisses him. "If I thought you would say yes, I'd ask you to stay forever," he murmurs.  
  
Party stares. "Are you for fucking real?"  
  
Korse blinks a little. He frowns.

  
Party grins suddenly. "Shit, you like me."  
  
Korse blinks; bites his lip. "Party."  
  
"Go on. You can tell me."  
  
Korse rolls his eyes, then tugs Party closer. "I don't need to tell you."  
  
"But I want to hear it," Party coos.  
  
"Maybe I want to hear it first," Korse says.  
  
"I'll tell you whatever you want to hear."  
  
Korse should have known he'd say that. But he wants the truth. "Tell me the truth, Party," he murmurs. "Is this just for safety? For Fun Ghoul?"  
  
Party bites his lip. "That's what I told him," he says, which isn't an answer either.  
  
"So that's all it is?" Korse says quietly. Something on the stove hisses, so he's already looking away when Party mumbles a no. "Pardon-?" He looks at him again, stirring distractedly.  
  
"I said no," Party says more distinctly.  
  
Korse turns down the heat. Leans against the counter. "So tell me the truth," he says gently.  
  
"Y'have to understand that's not...something I do much."  
  
"Tell the truth? I know that."  
  
Party folds his arms over his chest. "I came all this way to see you. I came here with you. Doesn't that count?"  
  
"For Destroya's sake, Party, just tell me."  
  
"Never thought I'd hear you say that, K. Fine, you want to hear it. I like you. A lot. Which I'm sure is a sign of mental instability in us both."  
  
Korse sighs. "It certainly is."  
  
Party's squirming a little. "Can we eat, and then talk about this? In bed?"  
  
"Yes, Party," Korse smiles.  
  
He scrapes the contents of his frying pan into two waiting bowls and hands one to Party, then sits down with his own and his drink. Party sits down beside him, gazing at his food, eyes wide. He takes a sip of his drink instead. "Vegetables," he muses.  
  
"You look on the verge of scurvy," Korse explains.  
  
"Verge, ha-ha," Party snickers.  
  
"Well, I didn't want to point it out."  
  
Party snorts and takes a bite of his food. He makes a low noise. Korse isn't sure if he means to. "S'good," Party whines.  
  
"Yeah?" Korse murmurs. He tries a bite of his own.  
  
"So good," he shoves more into his mouth.  
  
Korse can barely look away. It's good to see Party eat, better to see his throat moving. Korse is taking him into the bathroom next and sticking him in the shower.  
  
"You saying I smell?" Party protests when he voices his plan.   
  
"Well, yes, though I'm sure I do too at this point. I find I'd rather like to lick the water off your neck, though, if that suits?" Korse murmurs.  
  
Party pretends to consider. "I guess it does."  
  
He starts eating faster. Korse has to set a hand over his and say his name. "Take your time, Party."  
  
"Not used to it I guess... I'm usually eating on the go."  
  
"Me too," Korse murmurs, going back to his own dish.  
  
Party smiles at him helplessly. "I'm so glad I'm here..."  
  
"I suppose you make a good stupid decision every once in a while, Party."  
  
"This was your dumb decision. Not mine."  
  
"Coming to One was yours." Korse puts his fork down and tugs Party in.  
  
"Yeah, needed to see you," Party leans in.  
  
"Finished eating?" Korse murmurs.  
  
"Almost," Party grins.  
  
Korse kisses him, but keeps it brief. When they're finished eating, Party climbs into his lap.

  
"What now?" he grins.

"A shower," Korse tells him.  
  
"Ooh, you’re coming with me, yeah?" Party grins.  
  
"Said so, didn't I?"  
  
"Show me," Party says, sliding back onto his feet.  
  
Korse stands with him, humming. "Through there." Party slinks through the small hallway into the bedroom, then stops to stare at that too. "That next," Korse promises, urging him through to the en suite gently.  
  
He doesn't stare at that, just starts stripping out of various filthy articles of clothing. Korse hums his approval; touches at his narrow hips, crowding against his back. "Are you okay?"  
  
"Hmm? Whaddaya - like. Am I freaked? Am I hurt?" Party asks.  
  
"Any of the above," Korse says quietly.  
  
"Does scurvy and permanent hearing loss count?" He shrugs. "I'm pretty freaked out, K."  
  
"Because you're here? Are you nervous of me?" Korse looks at him in the mirror, sharp of his cheek against Party's temple, monochrome to Party's crimson and rainbow bruises.  
  
Party looks down at his hands gripping the sink. "I'm nervous about anything that means anything," he mumbles.  
  
"Do you want me to take you home?" Korse asks, voice careful.  
  
He can feel Party quivering, like he's cold. But he shakes his head. "No."  
  
"Then think of it this way," he murmurs, kissing behind his ear gently, "the head exterminator of Scarecrow is so stupid over you he's let you into his home, allowing you plenty of opportunity to identify his weaknesses and steal enough to give you gas and food for a month. As well as time for a shower and a good night's sleep."  
  
Party bites his lip, then grins. "You forgot the fucking."  
  
"Trust me, I did not," Korse murmurs.  
  
Party grins wider; tilts his head obligingly when he leans in to trail kisses under the hinge of his jaw slowly. "Stupid, huh."  
  
"Don't ruin it," Korse mumbles.  
  
Party snorts and turns in his arms. "Strip," he orders. Korse rolls his eyes, but he takes off his waistcoat; moves to turn on the water while he unbuttons his shirt. Party perches on the edge of the sink and watches like some overgrown house pet.  
  
Korse folds his clothes as he goes, amused at Party's little noise of annoyance. "Get in," he urges. "You need scrubbing anyway."  
  
"No. You're gonna be ages until you're actually naked," he grumbles, getting down, coming to start on Korse's flies.  
  
Korse smirks, kicks off his boots and lets Party peel his trousers and briefs off. He chucks them off roughly to one side.   
  
"Now we'll get in."  
  
"After you," Korse says, watching Party step under the spray. Red dye immediately trickles down his neck. "Where do you get it?" he asks, touching at his hair as he steps in behind him, calmed by the sound of water on glass.  
  
"Somebody scrounged it off an abandoned truck at a truck stop. Took it in trade. Gonna run out eventually," Party sighs.  
  
"I'll have to get you some more," Korse smiles, ruffling it gently under the spray to wet it.  
  
"That's not conspicuous," Party snorts, eyes closed.  
  
"I can be subtle," Korse bites at his jaw.  
  
"Yeah, your giant boner for me was really subtle all the times you were trying to kill me," Party snarks. His eyes slip closed as Korse pets his hair.  
  
"You are so charming and eloquent, it was an impossible task to execute," Korse laughs; smooths his free hand down Party's chest. Party hums in approval.  
  
"Sarcasm, but no lies," he echoes softly, and Korse laughs quietly, curls long fingers around his cock. Party sighs, tips his face back under the spray. He arches helplessly into the heat of his palm.  
  
"Hold still for me to wash you," Korse rumbles.  
  
"Fuck- no, don't stop," Party mumbles, melting back into him.  
  
"There's time for that," Korse says, but he doesn't stop, either.  
  
"Fuck-" Party arches weakly, "please-"  
  
"How can I say no to that?" Korse replies.  
  
"So don't," he slurs, jaw slack. Korse kisses down his throat, tasting dirt washing away. He strokes until Party is firm and thrusting faster. "Korse," he breathes, all unapologetic need and lust. He's practically butter, letting Korse support his weight with one arm as he pulls at his cock.  
  
"You're such a good boy," Korse tells him softly.  
  
Party gasps and his hips stutter weakly. "Yeah-?"  
  
"Oh, yes. So good." Korse gasps a little when Party brushes up against him.  
  
"Good enough that you'll fuck me-?" Party arches again, closer against him now, grabbing back loosely at his shoulder.  
  
"Maybe," Korse hums, pulling him in. Party's whine is plaintive. Korse chuckles. "Hand me that bottle of lotion," he orders.  
  
He shivers and hands it over, breaths coming faster.  
  
"Face the wall," Korse murmurs. When Party complies, he takes a second to survey the lean muscles in his back; the tension in his thighs. Pushing up against his back, Korse rocks his cock- hard too, after all Party's squirming- slowly against Party's hip as he presses some lotion out onto his fingers. Party is whining continuously under his breath. He jumps when Korse touches him.  
  
"Fuck, please," he hisses, arching his hips back. Korse presses two fingers in slowly, kissing the backs of his shoulders. He hums at the way Party takes him easily; arches back and moans softly for more, like he always does. Korse thinks not for the first time that he could get used to this.  
  
He wonders about Party's other partners, about Fun Ghoul. If he's the same. If Party is the same way with him he is with Korse. He buries his face in Party's damp neck at the thought; surges his fingers in deeper and faster. "Who am I, Party," he whispers.  
  
"Huh-?" Party peers at him over his shoulder, eyes soft.  
  
"I want to know that you know who you're with, is all." Fuck, Party is so hot, even hotter than the water around them.  
  
"I'm with you," Party breathes, all soft bursts and heat, "Korse- sometimes I worry I'm always with you--"  
  
"How so?" Korse presses his face between Party's shoulder blades, pulls out his fingers and lines up his cock.  
  
"Awh fuck-" Party lets out a high, shuddering cry as Korse pushes in, "oh- can't stop thinking of you- I'm driving the guys mad. When- oh- when you called off the job I- I couldn't- sleep, thought they'd caught you-"  
  
"Party," Korse groans. "I hate not being able to contact you."  
  
"No fancy cell phones in the desert- fuck-!" Party jolts at another shallow shove of Korse's hips.  
  
Korse braces his hands on Party's hips. "I know. Still hate it."  
  
"Yeah- me- me too-" Party groans weakly, bracing his forearms against the tile. He pushes back into each thrust. Korse fucks him faster, head down against the spray, eyes dark as he watches himself disappear into Party's body. It's so unexpectedly intense. He can hardly stand it. He groans softly, hips snapping.   
  
"Jerk yourself," he tells Party. He watches him do as he's told; shivers at the way Party tenses minutely around him. Maybe he'll have him do it again later, in bed, when Korse can really watch. He feels a spasm of heat go through him at the thought. "Make yourself come," he murmurs.  
  
Party cries out; nods softly, the motions of his hand quickening, knuckles of his other hand white on the tile. The noises that he makes drive Korse to fuck him even harder. "Oh fuck- Korse- I'm-!" He keens and collapses against the tile. Korse can feel him coming. He shudders at the clench of his body; keeps him close as his own need grows. He's still watching his own thrusts, trying to breathe through the pressure. "Party," he moans.  
  
"What do you want me to do-?" Party asks weakly.  
  
"Just let me -" Korse groans again.  
  
"Yeah-" Party nods, "do it-" Korse hisses out a breath and grips hard to Party's hips. Party grabs back at him gently; whines at the closeness. "Please, Korse-"  
  
Korse buries his face in Party's hair and thrusts hard. He can't get over how fast Party came, how badly he wanted him. It's enough to drive him insane.  
  
It takes him a few more thrusts, but soon his vision is whiting out. When he pulls out, breathless and shivering, Party turns in his arms and kisses him, clinging gently at his shoulders.  
  
"Now we're both dirty," he hums.  
  
"Amazing how you can even make a shower as much," Korse muses, kissing him slowly.  
  
Party leans into him and kisses back. He hums when Korse grabs a bottle of soap; pours some out onto his hands to wash Party down. He ends up needing to scrub with a cloth at some spots, which Party complains about. He wants Korse's hands.  
  
"Shh, I'll put my hands on you when you're not so bloody filthy," Korse murmurs. Party grumbles but stands still. "Be good," Korse warns gently.  
  
"Dunno if I have that much good in me," Party replies. He has freckles underneath the dirt, Korse is finding. He's enthralled.  
  
"You have plenty," Korse corrects gently. Party sighs. Korse kisses his forehead.  
  
"I never expected you to be kind," Party mumbles.  
  
"I'm not," Korse replies.  
  
"You're a good actor then."  
  
Korse drops the washcloth to the floor and reaches for shampoo. "Maybe. I don't know."  
  
"If you're just pretending so I'll fall for you, it's pretty effective," Party continues softly.  
  
"Party," Korse protests. He falls silent, eyes down. "I don't think I'm a good actor," Korse replies. "I don't think I'm pretending. I just don't know what I'm like."  
  
"I know what you're like," Party says softly.  
  
"Then you can tell me all about me," Korse says, lips twisting in a smirk as he lathers Party's hair.  
  
"Mm- maybe I will when I've spent a little more time with you." Party smiles, humming under the attention. Korse finds himself liking the sound of that. He rinses him down; chuckles when Party returns the favor.  
  
"Next?" Party grins, shaking his dripping hair.  
  
"Bed," Korse tells him, rinsing off the last of the soap and shutting off the water. Party still looks bright and tan and unreal in the white and chrome gleam of the bathroom, and Korse finds he likes that, too.  
  
Party hops out and grabs a towel. He makes a ridiculous noise when he wraps it around himself. "This shit feels like a cloud-" Korse wants to make a smart remark, but he feels too - something to reply. Guilty, perhaps. Again. "I wanna fucking sleep under this," Party mumbles, wandering back through to Korse's room, then he stops again; stares out of the floor length windows, taking everything in. He shivers a bit and looks back at him over his shoulder.  
  
"No one can see you," Korse murmurs.  
  
"No," Party says softly, and he looks again for a minute, then drops his towel; turns to reach out for him. Korse steps within reach, then backs him up to the window and presses him against it, leaning down to kiss him. He hums when Party shivers from the cold; feels his arms wind around his neck again.  
  
"Look at you," Korse murmurs.  
  
"What about me?"  
  
"You're more beautiful than anything in this city."  
  
His breath catches a little. Color crests across his nose and cheeks. "K..."  
  
"Yeah?" Korse murmurs.  
  
"Just- I just never expected to feel like this."  
  
Korse cups his hand lightly around Party's throat. "In general, or about me?"  
  
"Is it a cop out to say both?" He arches forward into the warmth of his palm slowly, chin tipping up.  
  
"No, but what about your other...lovers?" Korse murmurs.  
  
"I don't know," Party admits, "what about them-?"  
  
"Never mind," Korse tells him, "I don't really want to talk about that, do you?"  
  
Party smirks. "Dunno, maybe you really do. You want to hear dirty stories?"  
  
Korse rolls his eyes, smoothing his thumb over the bump in Party's throat gently. "Any worth telling?"  
  
"Oh, sugar, are there ever." Party grins, leaning in for a kiss.  
  
Korse indulges him for a moment, then squeezes gently over his throat, "go on then, pretty. Tell me."  
  
"I dunno, you were there for the ones I like most," Party smiles charmingly, practically batting his lashes.

Korse tuts softly, and his hand smooths up from Party's throat to his jaw, thumb stroking over his lower lip gently. "You're ridiculous."  
  
"You like it," Party replies, sucking Korse's thumb into his mouth.  
  
"I do," Korse nods; strokes the plush of his tongue, "good boy..."  
  
Party nods, "Yeah - I am -" His mouth falls open farther, tongue rubbing over Korse's skin. He tastes faintly of his soap and not at all of the usual acid and ozone.  
  
"You are," he pulls away to replace his thumb with two fingers, humming at the heat of Party's mouth. Party moans, drooling a little at the corners of his mouth. "Are you thinking of sucking something else?" Korse murmurs. He grins at his answering whine and the little bob of his chin; the way he sucks a little more hungrily. "My recovery time isn't quite that good, pretty. What about yours?"   
  
Korse lets his hand smooth down Party's chest and stomach. He's half hard; arching softly into his touch. "Mhh--"  
  
"Up on the bed. I want to see what you can do with this," Korse squeezes gently.

Party makes a high, wounded noise, nodding, letting Korse's fingers go with reluctance. "You're coming too?" he questions.  
  
Korse can't resist kissing him then, at the whine in his voice. "Of course I am. I haven't had my fill of you yet," he laughs.  
  
Party hums, then slips from between him and the window, moving to the bed. As he kneels onto the mattress, he stretches up slowly, skin pulled taut over his ribs. Korse follows him, pressing him to the mattress and kissing each ridge of bone. Party hums under the attention.  
  
"What do you want me to do-?"  
  
"Touch yourself for me," Korse replies. He watches Party shiver and comply; push his hand down between them to stroke himself slowly.   
  
"Fuck-"  
  
"I watch you whenever you're caught on the feeds," Korse murmurs. "Whenever I can. I can't resist."  
  
"Yeah-?" Party grins and gasps softly, arching into his hand. "You like watching me?"  
  
"You're the only thing worth looking at."  
  
"Awh-" Party flushes, fucking up into his fist slowly, "tell me more-"  
  
"They all stare at you, even when they profess to despise you. They've never seen anything like you. Why do you think the price on your head is so high?"  
  
"Mmh- I don't wanna hear about what they think," Party purrs, "I wanna know what you think-"  
  
"I watch your body move and think about how it tastes," Korse murmurs, unoffended.  
  
"How does it taste?"  
  
"Filthy. Amazing." Korse shifts to lift his hand, lick the spit and precome from between his fingers.  
  
"Fuck-" Party groans; watches with wide eyes and immediately shifts his other hand back to his cock to continue, stroking fast, wet and flush from Korse's words.  
  
"None of them have any idea. But I do." Korse nips his shoulder, watching the motion of his hand before looking back at his face.  
  
"Awh fuck- I kinda get the same- when I hear whispers of you on the radio-" Party gasps between strokes, eyes flickering tight shut, "every time anyone mentions you- think of how I'd been scared of you too, that day in the warehouse when you fucked me the first time- I came so hard 'cause I was so fucking scared of you-"  
  
"You didn't act scared," Korse murmurs. "At least...not more than I liked."  
  
"I know- I'm good at pretending-" Party whispers, arching.  
  
"Are you scared now?" Korse asks his sternum, kissing up his throat.  
  
"Only a really little bit-" he breathes.  
  
Korse nips his chin. "What are you scared of?"  
  
"Mm- right now that you're missing the point- should I stop-?" He sounds reluctant.  
  
"Keep going. Tell me how it feels."  
  
"So good-" Party whines, "I love that you watch me-"  
  
"It's my job," he murmurs, "but I spend it thinking of what I want to do to you."  
  
"What do you wanna do to me- fuck, m'close-"  
  
"Anything you want," Korse tells him, murmuring straight into his ear, "but I can't stop thinking about the noises you made when I spanked you."  
  
"Fuck-" Party groans, precome dripping onto his belly as he strokes faster, jaw slacking, "yes-"  
  
"Yes?" Korse whispers, kissing his ear.  
  
"Yes- yeah- fuck-" Party can't decide what he wants more, to come or ask for that, Jesus. His hand slows and he whines.  
  
"You want it?" Korse asks, voice barely a whisper. "Want me to turn you black and blue?"  
  
Party flings both hands away from his body. One grabs a handful of covers and one grabs onto Korse's arm. Korse's answering grin makes him groan between his teeth. "Please..."  
  
"What a good boy you are. Look how hard you are, and you want to stop."  
  
"Fuck- because I need you," Party whines.  
  
"Do you," Korse croons, pushing at him to get him to roll over. Party goes with another soft keening sound, failing to stifle the arch of his hips against the bedspread. Korse smacks his upturned ass, just lightly. He smiles at the little sigh he gives: he sounds so content. "Do I have to tie you, or will you stay still?"  
  
"Do you want to tie me-?" He turns his cheek into the sheets; peers at Korse over his shoulder, lower lip tucked coyly between his teeth.  
  
"I wouldn't mind, but I also wouldn't mind seeing how well you can behave." Korse smiles at him.  
  
Party all but whimpers. "I can behave..."  
  
Korse trails a hand up his spine. "Very well. Show me." He shifts to his knees by Party's side; spreads one hand gently against the nape of his neck and brings the other down hard over the backs of his thighs.  
  
Party doesn't hold back the whimper this time, breathes it out, but his hands stay clenched in a pillow.  
  
"You didn't even twitch then," Korse says softly, "I must not have done it hard enough." The next slap, he makes sure he does. This time, Party yelps.   
  
"Hope your walls are soundproofed."  
  
"I don't have neighbors," Korse murmurs, hitting him again swiftly, once, and then twice more. Party groans, muscles jumping. Korse bites his lip at the way he jolts away, sliding his fingers up to grip his hair. "You said you could be good."  
  
"I am, I am, I am," he slurs. Korse smacks him again and again until his skin blooms bright red. Party repeats it, in varying levels of calm and shrill, with each sting of Korse's palm. He's practically drooling by the time Korse pauses, panting and flush.  
  
"You are," Korse agrees softly.  
  
"Fuck- more-" Party whines softly, "come on, hurt me-"  
  
Each swing is making Korse harder too. He presses his palm against the blazing heat of Party's ass; slips his fingers between his cheeks to stroke over his hole. He's still wet and open from before in the shower, and Korse slips one finger inside as he fists into his hair: Party never specified how he should hurt him.  
  
Party moans helplessly, trying not to move.   
  
"Do you want me to keep hitting you?" Korse breathes. "Or do you want something else?" He's not sure what he wants the answer to be.  
  
"Want both-" Party drawls, ever the opportunist. Korse has to laugh.   
  
"Do you want to see the toy drawer?"  
  
"Jesus fuck- want you to pick something- whatever you want."  
  
"I want whatever's going to do the best job to drive you mad, Red," Korse tells him.  
  
"So get that-" Party doesn't seem to mind the idea of being teased; he never does. Korse idly thrust his fingers while considering his choices. Cuffs? Gag? Plug? His belt? Party groans, writhing as he waits. Finally Korse selects a plug, letting Party get a look at it as he closes the drawer.  
  
"Holy shit," he squeaks.  
  
"This should give us some more time to play," Korse murmurs. Party watches with wide, keen eyes, nodding along weakly. "Breathe," Korse chuckles. He grins when Party lets out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. He reaches for lube and slicks up the plug, slowly so Party can watch that too.  
  
His breaths quicken at that, jaw slacking weakly. "Korse- please - hurry the fuck up--"  
  
"Rude," Korse murmurs, reaching out to stroke down between Party's cheeks.  
  
"Don't learn many manners in the fucking desert-" Party gasps, arching for his fingers.  
  
"You choose to be a rude little fuck, more like." Korse holds him still, presses in with the tip of the toy and twists it slowly. Party goes silent, jaw dropping as he takes it, hips arching greedily. "You know it's true. How does this feel, Red? Do you want it all at once?"  
  
Yes- please..." Party says it carefully, breath breaking on the vowels. Korse waits another beat, then pushes. Party gasps.   
  
"You asked so nicely," he explains, rocking it gently to ease the way. He feels when the flare passes the ring of muscle. Party presses his face into the pillow, thighs quivering.  
  
"Mmhthankyou-" he slurs weakly.  
  
He slaps Party again, not too hard, mostly to hear him yelp, then pushes him over onto his side and stretches out next to him.  
  
"Fuck-" Party grabs at him weakly, eyes wide.  
  
"Feel good? We're just going to leave that there for a while." Korse leans in to kiss him.  
  
"Mmh- full-" Party murmurs, clutching at him. He opens his mouth for Korse's tongue, pressing as close as he can get. He feels ratcheted close, hot all over, so hard it aches. Korse could keep him like this for hours, here in his soft and clean bed in this cool grey room, and as long as he was touching him he wouldn't complain. He hasn't felt like this in a long time, unnervingly safe, frighteningly intimate. Korse wraps his arms around him and Party is worried for a moment that he's gonna cry. Or something equally dumb. Korse kisses him, hands trailing over his body, less than gentle. "Shit, Korse, this is insane," Party slurs.  
  
"We knew that," Korse replies.  
  
"No- this- how I feel-"  
  
"I find it hard to believe this is the kinkiest thing you've ever done," Korse says doubtfully.  
  
"That's not what I fucking meant and you know it," Party grumbles, arching. "Or is this you being bad at having emotions again?"  
  
Korse laughs, shakes his head. "Possibly." He kisses the underside of Party's jaw. "Tell me what you want me to know, Red."  
  
"I dunno- not sure in your bed with an asshole full of rubber is the time to talk about it I guess..."  
  
"All right." Korse urges their hips closer together. "Something else then."  
  
"Yeah- what?" Party grins breathlessly.  
  
Korse tangles his hand in Party's hair. "Put your mouth on me," he says lazily.  
  
"Yeah- fuck-" Party moves, wincing softly at the tug inside him.  
  
Korse pushes himself up to lean against the headboard, watching Party shift gingerly. Party keens softly at the sight of him; straightens to pet his knees gently, fingers trailing down the inside of his thighs. He sets his mouth to the inside of Korse's knee.  
  
"You're so hot," he breathes against his skin, breath warm and damp."  
  
Korse laughs. "Yeah?"  
  
"Yes," Party assures him, bending low to take him into his mouth.  
  
He fights to keep his eyes open; Party in his bed, sucking him off, is nothing to be missed. He's sucking slow and gentle, long singular sucks and licks, lashes making crescents of pleasure. This is the Party of his fantasies, the wild animal tame at his feet who could still turn at any moment. He curls his fingers into his hair and bites his lip when Party moans. He's still being careful. Thorough.  
  
Korse arches his hips and tugs. Party chokes a little but doesn't pull back. He's sucking with quiet determination, back straight where he's knelt to keep the strain off the plug. His hands knead at Korse's thighs. Korse tugs gently at his hair again. It's drying now, softer than expected now that it's clean, and Party's eyelashes flutter each time he does it. Tipping his head back slowly, Korse commits the feeling to memory, from the silk under his fingers to the blazing warmth in his chest. "Party," he whispers, breath staggering.  
  
He feels his soft hum in response; his fingers tightening on his skin. He has to work to keep himself under control. It's only when he feels like he's in danger of losing it that he pushes him away gently; pulls his chin up to kiss him. He reaches down to press at the base of the plug with his other hand, because he can.  
  
Party moans against his mouth; grabs abortively at his arm. "K--"  
  
Korse kisses him quiet. The soft blasts of Party's breath between their lips makes him press again gently; curl his fingers around the base to slowly rock the plug into Party's body. Party moans again, louder this time, bucking against him. "How's it feel, Red? Is it good?"  
  
"Aches so good," Party breathes.  
  
"You're such a good boy," Korse murmurs to him, stroking his hair back gently, "you look so pretty like this. Tell me what else you want."   
  
"I just want whatever you wanna give me-" Party slurs weakly, "everything you've got-- anything-"  
  
Korse closes his eyes. He has to school himself a moment, a little overwhelmed by it all. He can't wait any longer, but he can at least take his time. "Lie down for me, Party, on your stomach like before."  
  
Party squirms into position, whining a little as his cock drags against the mattress. Watching him is its own kind of torture. Korse reaches out and strokes down his back. He watches muscles jump under his fingers. Party is like art, underneath all the ragged clothing. He presses a kiss to his shoulder, fingers trailing to the base of the plug. Party moans his name.  
  
"You want it out?" he breathes.  
  
"Want you," Party tells him.  
  
"That doesn't answer my question."  
  
Party pants into the pillow. "I. Korse, c’mon. Fuckin yes I want it out, want you to fuck me, but. M'being good."  
  
"You are being good," Korse agrees softly, and he eases the plug out a little with gentle fingers; shoves it back in slickly. Party moans into the pillow again.  
  
"Korse," he hisses, "please stop fucking around--"  
  
"But I just love the look on your face when I do," Korse laughs quietly.  
  
"You'll love the one when you stop even more, I promise."  
  
He's probably not wrong. "Roll over on your back and grab your knees," he murmurs.  
  
"I'm getting motion sickness," Party grouses, but he does as he's told. Korse loves it when his patience starts to stretch.  
  
"You look good stretched out around that plug," Korse tells him.  
  
Party huffs softly; bites his lip. "I'd look better stretched around your cock, or your hand," he tells him, voice fracturing.  
  
He looks plenty good with his cock curved up against his belly, smearing wet on his skin. Korse grabs the lube and slicks himself.  
  
"Shit, yes, please-" Party breathes. It's been such a short interim since they fucked before but he's already starving for the feeling of Korse inside him again, oversensitive and needy.  
  
"Squeeze your cock," Korse grits and takes hold of the plug, easing it out as slowly as he can.  
  
Party whines but does as he's told, breaths shuddering out as he holds on. "Awh--"  
  
Korse pulls it out and tosses it aside, lining up and thrusting in. He feels Party seize up all at once, trying to hold on. He grabs at Korse's shoulders and keeps him close. "Fuck--" Korse sinks in the whole way, then settles onto his elbows, feeling Party's legs wrap around him. He kisses him; starts to roll his hips in long circles.   
  
Party clutches at him tightly. This is what he wanted, his weight blanketing Party, his cock buried deep inside. He takes his time. "Oh fuck," Party whines, gripping at him, "holy shit-"  
  
Korse buries his face against Party's neck, thrusting with his hips as he presses down with his whole weight. He can feel Party arching into the motions of his body, hips bridging off the mattress to get him closer, deeper. He can feel the wet heat of his cock pressed against his upper belly and it sends a bolt of need through him. "Party," he groans helplessly, pressing an open mouth against his throat. He feels his whimper under his lips; the trail of his palms.   
  
Party cups the nape of Korse's neck; kisses him deep and needy. "This is so -" his voice breaks.  
  
"I know," Korse murmurs, and finds he means it. Party's hands and legs are tight on Korse's body. Korse can hardly breathe for the heat, can only keep moving into the clench of his body, the intoxication of his kiss. He opens his eyes to look at Party. Lips parted, skin flush, eyes heavy. He looks ethereal and ecstatic, and Korse can't look away. "Look at me," he murmurs.  
  
Party does, letting out a weak moan at the sight of him, hands tightening on his skin. "No one's ever looked at me like you do," he says.  
  
"I can't stop," Korse confesses.  
  
"Don't," Party gasps.  
  
"I won't, not ever."  
  
His nails score Korse's shoulders as he shoves upward with his hips. "Korse-" he starts, and it's pleading, warning.  
  
"You can come," Korse whispers.  
  
Party bucks harder to take him, gasping, eyes defiantly open. Korse can feel him start to clench, but he comes in slow motion, jaw slack and body shaking as it crashes through him, coating their bellies with come. Korse moans wetly against his throat, too overcome to even bite down.  
  
"Fuck," Party moans weakly, "fuck-! Keep going," he urges Korse.  
  
"As if I'd stop," Korse grits, and then he pulls out- much to Party's bemusement- before pushing him onto his front and shoving roughly back in, a hand finding his hair and pushing gently against the nape of his neck. He's a little way off coming, especially after such a short space between the last time, but it's burning low and sure between his hips, getting brighter with every fast jolt of his hips. Party's moans drive him on.  
  
He's arching, groaning, and Korse isn't sure how he can manage it but he's touching himself again, stroking his flagging cock like he could even dream of getting it up again. Korse grabs hard at his still-red ass and thrusts hard and fast. He can't stop watching Party fisting his cock, drooling into the sheets with his hair splayed like a blood stain and his eyes clenched with pleasure. "Yeah, fuck yeah," he groans over and over.   
  
Korse bites his lip and watches his own thrusts for a moment, then breathes a curse of his own and pounds in fast and graceless.  
  
"Oh fuck-" Party clenches, shoves his face into the sheets, his hand a fast blur on his cock. Korse slams their hips together two, three more times and comes with a strangled shout. "Shit-" Party hisses, and he shakes like he's coming, or feeling fucking something, because afterwards he whines and folds down onto the mattress, chest heaving. Korse groans and pulls out, collapsing next to Party.  
  
"Party-- I might need to sleep before the next time-" he mumbles, turning to face him on the bed, tugging the sheets up slowly.  
  
"Yeah, yeah," Party murmurs back, kissing sloppily over his cheeks and lips. He grins when Korse wraps his arms around his middle; hauls him against his chest gently. "If you really need a rest, I can fuck you next time instead."  
  
Korse hums. "Oh, can you?"  
  
Party grins; arches gently. "If you want. I don't mind."  
  
"Oh, so it's all about me now," Korse teases sleepily. "Greedy little shit changed his tune."  
  
"Well- y'know- I'm a giver," Party grins and curls around him, tucking his head under his chin and keening in content when Korse strokes lazily down his back. They're holding onto one another like lovers. Neither seems willing to stop or call it out.  
  
Korse wasn't lying about being exhausted. This apartment is one of the only places he can sleep more than an hour or two. He closes his eyes and smiles when he feels Party's breath go even and soft against his chest. He rides that pleased surprise right into sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

To his complete lack of surprise, Korse wakes first, but it's slowly and without any immediate concern. He looks down and is confronted by Party's mop of beachy hair, faded to peach at the ends, scarlet where it's healthier. He looks sleep blurred and pretty, eyelashes fanned against freckled cheeks. Korse feels an all too familiar stab of affection and sighs. He didn't mean to get fond of the kid.

He pets his hair absently: he won't get any less so now, he reasons, somewhat self indulgently. He can feel something violent stirring. Not that Party needs him to be protective. It's just in these quiet moments, when he looks much younger and decidedly less deadly than he is when he's awake. Korse feels... Afraid for him. He knows the way the story ends for boys like Party. He's ended enough of them himself. He doesn't want it to be that way, he realizes. Not right now.  
  
He sighs again, stroking the soft skin of Party's back. It's a short while, when he's dozing again, that he feels him stir; turn in his arms to rest his chin on his chest and hum at the sight of him. He kisses gently at Korse's collarbone; Korse lifts a hand to Party's hair.  
  
"Morning," Party whispers, lips brushing his skin.  
  
"Morning," Korse replies. He watches Party shift between his knees; the pink flash of his tongue against his chest as moves down. "Fuck," he says throatily.  
  
"In a moment," Party murmurs, and he's sinking down between his thighs, kissing slowly at the slope of his hips.  
  
"Not wasting any time, I see," Korse replies.  
  
"I don't know how much I have," Party reasons, and he licks the join where thigh meets groin, shivering softly.  
  
"Very well." Korse strokes his hair, hips twitching minutely.  
  
"Wanna taste you everywhere," Party murmurs.  
  
Korse is fine with that. He holds back a groan as Party adds a bit of teeth. The sun is glancing off his shoulders and hair, and Korse can hardly breathe at how good he looks. "You're beautiful," he says feelingly.  
  
Party looks up at him, and Korse sees his smile turn weak with surprise. "K, that's a lot of feelings for the crack of dawn," he brazens.  
  
"Sorry, I forgot." Party curls his tongue around Korse's cock. He shivers and jolts. "Party-"  
  
"Have I told you yet how much this makes me drool?" Party says.  
  
"I had noticed," Korse jokes breathlessly.  
  
"You're fucking hung, K." Party licks him again. He laughs when Korse tugs at his hair; licks a long path from his balls to the crown of his cock and then sucks him into his mouth, holding him loosely at the base. His other hand presses between Korse's thighs, back behind his balls. He quirks an eyebrow.  
  
"You can," Korse murmurs, arching just so.  
  
Party pulls off his cock. "I'm so good," he grins. "You won't regret it."  
  
"I don't doubt it," Korse breathes, watching him steadily. Party's nasty little grin is a sight to behold. Korse watches it disappear behind the fall of his hair as he dips down between his thighs and shivers.  
  
Party has no way of knowing how long it's been. He goes gently though, licking low behind his balls and humming into his skin. He can feel the tremor in Korse's lean thighs. He smooths them away with his palms as he licks, long strokes and presses of his tongue as he dips lower. He enjoys the groans Korse is letting slip free.  
  
Korse's hands find his hair shakily and Party moans softly against his skin, pressing his tongue slowly into his hole, breathing hard through his nose. He's so hard from this, it's hard to keep still. He allows himself a slow roll of his hips against the mattress as he sucks at the sensitive skin gently, whining when Korse's hands tighten incrementally. "Lube," he murmurs. Korse fumbles for a moment; hands it to him haltingly. "Gonna feel so good, sugar," Party croons automatically.  
  
Korse laughs, peers at him, the muscles of his stomach trembling slightly. "This isn't the first time I've done this, Party," he mutters.  
  
Party laughs too. "Good," he says and slips a finger in. Korse arches slowly, letting out a slow breath. Party's lips quirk and he twists the fingers slowly, pushing in. He can't help but lick slowly where his fingers disappear inside him, breaths coming quicker. The noises Korse is making are hot. The way his thighs bow open is even better. He's lean and gorgeous. Pale and scarred and knotted with muscle. He moans Party's name when Party crooks his fingers. His hips arch up slowly, cock twitching against his belly.  
  
"This is hot, K," Party breathes.  
  
"Yeah- it is-" Korse nods fast.  
  
"More?" Party asks, rubbing his cheek against Korse's thigh.  
  
"Yeah- now-"  
  
Party pushes in another finger, and this time he gets a whine. He searches gently and deeply with his fingers, beckoning as well as he can, and he's rewarded with a soft shudder; what little color Korse has left draining from his cheeks.  
  
"K?" he whispers.  
  
"Yeah- s'good-" Korse breathes.  
  
"I dunno if I can wait much longer to fuck you," Party tells him.  
  
"So fuck me," Korse tells him sharply, arching again softly.  
  
"Yessir," Party murmurs. He thrusts his fingers deeper now, trying to finish prepping him quickly. It's still not quick enough, not for either of them, but soon enough he's pulling them out and slicking himself up with lube.  
  
Korse pulls him close before he can take any longer; grabs his hair and kisses him slowly, guiding him in by his hips. He feels Korse's gasp between their mouths. His usually cool skin is afire, and he bridges close as Party pushes in, biting down hard on his lower lip and sighing. Party kisses his cheeks and chin and back to his lips.   
  
When he pushes in deeper, starts to rock, Korse tips his chin against his chest and groans through his teeth, breaths coming faster. Party urges his legs around his waist, presses closer. "Fuck, you feel good." He can't respond, only nod, fingers pressing white stars into Party's shoulders.   
  
Party keeps his hips to a steady, easy rhythm. He can't stop watching Korse; the way his brow works, jaw falls. He's gorgeous. Party tells him so, murmuring against his cheek.  
  
"Ah- shut up, Red," Korse mutters, kissing him to silence his words, swallow them down. They rock together with their gasps echoing one another. Party can't get over the easiness of it, the perfect rhythm of their motions. He snakes a hand between them to grab at Korse's cock, working him slowly as they move.  
  
Korse's fingers bite into his back. "Party," he breathes.  
  
"Want you to come first for a change," Party grins, nosing at him as he shoves deeper, hips rolling smoothly. He can tell it won't be long. Korse is breathing fast, cock slickening as Party strokes him in time with the pulses of his hips. He hums, giving him light kisses and keeping his hand tight.  
  
When he sees the muscles in his stomach and thighs draw tight, he lets himself fuck into the heat of him that much faster, gasping when Korse buries a moan in his throat and spills between their stomachs, body drawing impossibly tight.  
  
"Party," Korse groans.  
  
"I know," he promises weakly. It's his turn to drop his head and fuck hard while Korse holds him tight. His orgasm is fast and deafening, and when his hips slow, he realises he's clutching Korse's hips hard enough to bruise, almost impressed by his own strength. Korse is staring with dark eyes and open mouth.  
  
"Fuck, Party," he mumbles.  
  
Party lets himself stretch out on top of him. "Yeah." 

Korse pets down his back for a few moments after he's pulled out, and it's only after a short silence Party realises he's drifted off again. He holds back a laugh. Hopefully it's not from boredom. After debating joining him, he slips away, wandering around Korse's room quietly, peering at bookshelves and into his drawers. Party gets a real thrill out of that kind of thing, always.  
  
He touches at the pristine shirts, pressed undershirts, and watches the city move below. Everything feels different here, more at ease. Party doesn't know what to make of it. He should be terrified. He's not, not anymore. Not here. He knows that soon Korse will give him back into the desert and watch him go, and he'll have to wait however long it will be before he can see him again. That is the only thing he can find scary right now. That and the thought of Fun Ghoul's reaction when he goes home. Ghoul might scary lose it this time. But even that doesn't really make Party want to stay away. He's a little concerned that nothing could.  
  
He hears Korse roll over. "Party?" he murmurs.  
  
"Here, K." He moves back to the bed, climbing on top of him carefully.  
  
"Snooping?" Korse asks, running his fingers through Party's hair.  
  
"Of course. Looking for things to steal." He kisses Korse's cheeks, pulling back to grin at him.   
  
"Find anything good?" Korse replies.  
  
"One or two," Party murmurs, fingers tracing gently over his chest. "How long do we have?" he asks.  
  
"Patrol in two hours," Korse says softly.  
  
"Patrol where?" Party asks. "Is there any way..."  
  
"We can stretch this out? Probably not this time."  
  
Party sighs: he didn't think so. He shakes his head slowly. "This is insane. How is it that I got to be missing you before I even left?"  
  
"It's flattering," Korse murmurs, "but I know what you mean."  
  
Party presses close; bites his shoulder gently. "Do you know when...?"  
  
"Fuck, Party, I have no idea." Korse strokes his hair again. He frowns weakly when he sighs again. "I'll come to you. I promise."  
  
"Okay. And the plan?"  
  
"Are your guys ready?" Korse says doubtfully.  
  
They... I think I'm gonna have to do it on my own. They're not super down with all of us being around the city, Ghoul says it stinks of prime time to be betrayed and I guess he'd rather someone was still out if that happens, so..." Party looks away carefully: he feels disloyal to Ghoul saying it, but he has to be honest.  
  
"There's no way he'll ever trust me, is there?" Korse murmurs.  
  
"No, never."  
  
"Do you feel like you can do it by yourself?" Korse asks him.  
  
"Not without killing them," Party says quietly. "I'd need a heads up on where to head when I get out." When Korse doesn't answer right away, Party nuzzles nervously at his jaw. "I just... I won't try but- if I get loose around here, they'll all be on me in fucking seconds... How am I meant to escape that? I don't have a plan as often as you seem to think, K."  
  
Korse sighs; nudges a palm up to his jaw. "Okay."  
  
"Okay what? Okay I can shoot my way out, or okay we'll think of something else?" Party lets Korse pull him in for a kiss.  
  
"I'm not sure," he murmurs, "I don't know if you'd get out alone. You told me your guys would say yes," he reproaches Party softly.  
  
"I didn't realise how pissed they'd be," Party murmurs, "I mean they might if I really kicked off but... I dunno. It doesn't make much sense, Ghoul's right..."  
  
Korse's face goes blank and cold. "Very well."  
  
Party watches the shift, and frowns. "I still wanna do it."  
  
"You do?"  
  
"Yeah, of course I do- I just said I need a fucking plan and to be able to kill them, K. I can try and aim for soft shots but it's not gonna be one hundred per cent. Besides, if my boys do come there's no guarantee your little vamps won't kill any of mine." He looks serious now, an unusual expression on his face.  
  
"Try your hardest," Korse murmurs. He can't stop touching Party, even now.  
  
"I'll try, I promise I'll try," Party mumbles, leaning into his touch, shifting softly where he's sat on his hips, "you know I'll do what you fucking say..."  
  
"You will, won't you." Korse sounds disbelieving, even now.  
  
"Yeah, I will." Party kisses him slowly, pressing tight so there's not an inch of space between them. Korse feels himself start to smile.  
  
"Because you're worried what will happen if you don't?" He watches Party nod, lip caught between his teeth. He hums; gives him a firm pat on the cheek that speaks of more to come, his other hand spreading firmly over Party's ass. "Smart boy."  
  
Party bites at Korse's fingertips. "You said two hours?" he asks suggestively.  
  
"I said two hours." Korse is already dipping his fingers low, rubbing slowly, dark eyes intent on Party's face. "I want to see you do as I say so I know you're going to when the time comes, Red."  
  
Party nods emphatically. "You know I will."  
  
"Good." Korse strokes over his lower lip with a thumb. "Do you want to prove it?"  
  
"Fuck yes," Party replies, eyes fixed on Korse.  
  
"Good boy." Korse practically purrs against his ear, voice low and rough. "I want you to pick something for me to spank you with out of the drawer, and then I want you to stand and put your hands on the bed. Yes?"  
  
"Yes," Party breathes, scrambling.  
  
"Pick a word that means stop," Korse says quietly, and Party sees his face differently now, calm and serious and careful. He's going to send Party home knowing who he belongs to and Party can't fucking wait.  
  
"Scarecrow," Party mutters, biting his lip again.  
  
He nods; stands up and stretches, swatting the back of his thigh gently to urge him into action. "Go on then. Do as you're told, boy."  
  
Party scurries over to open the drawer, looking over the contents wide-eyed. He's already getting hard again at the thought- he's not sure he won't always be in a state of mind-numbing arousal around Korse- but the sight of the sleek black belt hidden at the back of the drawer makes his stomach draw tight. Paddles are okay, paddles are good, but belts can be used for more than just hitting. He stands and holds it out, noting the heavy buckle with a slight shiver in his breath.  
  
"All right," Korse nods tightly at the bed. Party moves toward it; keeps his back straight as he places his palms down on the bedspread and bends over. "Good," Korse murmurs. "You can be obedient. So far."  
  
Party doesn't trust himself to speak, so instead he nods shakily; spreads his feet a little on the carpet so he's steadier. He can't see Korse at all from this position, just hear him breathing. He jumps when his hand finds the back of Party's neck for a moment, touch cool and soft.  
  
"K," he whispers. Korse's fingers tighten, then trail away. Party hears the creak of the leather as Korse folds it over.  
  
"Not a sound, unless it's your safe word," he murmurs, and Party bites his lip once more and nods.  
  
The first stripe catches him high across his ass, not terribly hard but stinging a bit. He swallows down a gasp; clenches his teeth when the second lick sounds with a crack that makes his stomach lurch hotly. Korse is finding a rhythm, steady blows that travel up and down his ass and thighs. Soon agony is singing through his flesh, and Party endures most of it in silence, until the tongue of the belt catches the inside of one thigh, and he chokes on a whelp that he immediately regrets.  
  
The belt buckle clatters softly against the carpet. "Party," Korse says sternly.  
  
He's quiet again now, not daring to speak or break form, arms quaking a little. Despite the pain he's still hard, cock hanging flush and heavy against his stomach. He closes his eyes and waits for Korse to exact his displeasure. Korse slaps him openhanded, right across his balls. Party clenches his teeth harder.  
  
"I said no noise. You're meant to show me you can do as you're told," he grits, still sounding so calm. Party shivers; dips his head closer to the mattress to keep his arms from failing.  
  
Korse runs his eyes up and down the curve of Party's back, considering. "Do you want to make it up to me? One word answer, yes or no."  
  
"Yes," Party whispers.  
  
"Good boy. I'm going to hit you again; we'll say twenty-five times. For every time you make a noise when I've told you not to, you'll get five more. If you can do it without a noise, you'll have redeemed yourself to me. Understood? Yes or no."  
  
"Yes," Party says again.  
  
"And you're sure?"  
  
"Yes," Party says pleadingly.  
  
"All right." Korse steadies him with a hand on the small of his back, then cracks the belt across the back of his thighs several times in quick succession, first in varied places and then back over already livid skin. Not all the blows are hard, like Korse is giving his flushed skin a respite. They're not regularly spaced, though. Korse is clearly too worked up to be too kind.   
  
Party lurches with the force of the next one, pain bolting through his core, enough to make him bite his tongue to stay silent. Even so, he can feel his need to please Korse transforming, becoming a buffer between his pain and his task. His internal count is somewhere around nineteen. He can do this.  
  
Six more feels like an eternity, and he almost slips up twice, but then he hears Korse drop the belt onto the mattress; feels his cool hands cover his scalding skin. He groans weakly and hides his face, then feels Korse tense. Shit. He made a noise. He shivers and waits to find out if he fucked up.  
  
"Party." Korse starts softly, and then he pulls gently, until he can see his face. Whatever he was going to say seems to die in his throat, and he reaches out instead to touch at his wet cheeks, frowning softly. "Are you okay, Red?" Party works his mouth silently, staring at him until Korse prompts, "Talk, it's all right."  
  
"Yes," he says weakly, and he gives him a soft, dozy smile, shivering faintly, "thank you..."

Korse folds careful arms around him. "You did well," he whispers.  
  
"Thanks," Party slurs, and he presses into him, nosing under his jaw, "s'so good."  
  
"Yes," Korse hums, petting down his back.  
  
Party arches weakly, skin searing to touch, lips parted. "Fu-uck..."  
  
"You're marked up now, no mistaking that," Korse comments, not without a bit of smugness.  
  
Party smiles, and he's still arching where Korse is petting over his thighs and ass, touch soft, soft. "I like it--"  
  
"I know," Korse hums. He rolls him slowly onto his back on the bed, smoothing his hands down his torso. "Keeping you here is tempting," he murmurs.  
  
"Go ahead, I can stay here while you go to work- be all cleaned up by the time you get back," Party is practically purring, foot trailing lazily up Korse's back to pull him closer.  
  
"Until you got bored and decided to go out and make trouble," Korse laughs.  
  
"That doesn't sound like me," Party grins wide, "I can stay here and make trouble."  
  
"That's the truest thing I've ever heard."  
  
"That's what you love about me," he says, knowingly.  
  
"That you're trouble personified? What does that say about me?" Korse bites at his jaw. The shiver the action elicits makes him press closer; rock their hips together slowly.  
  
"That you're not the machine you think you are," Party breathes, "that you're human-"  
  
"Guess you're right," Korse replies, nipping up to his ear.  
  
"Or maybe it just means you really like me," Party says slyly.  
  
"Is that it?" Korse murmurs, hands tightening on Party's shoulders.  
  
"You tell me..."  
  
"I think you're right. I also think we're both fools." Korse's eyes are softer than Party's ever seen them. He smiles at the words, biting his lip. He's pretty sure his are the same.  
  
"Yeah, we are..." He shrugs a little, gathering Korse closer. "I never pretended different."  
  
"No, you didn't..." Korse grins and kisses him soundly. Party melts into it. Korse's hands smooth down to the sore flesh of his ass and he whines. Korse shushes him. "What do you want, Party?" he asks softly.  
  
"You," Party sighs. "Just you."  
  
"How?" Korse murmurs.  
  
Party sighs again. "Gonna make me decide?"  
  
Korse watches him for a long moment, then he smiles; shifts off Party and moved to sit against the headboard, tugging him along. "No, come here."  
  
Party crawls gingerly up the bed and into Korse's lap. He smiles, lower lip caught between his teeth, and grabs for the lube from earlier, shoving it at Korse. "C'mon- want you now..."  
  
Korse shakes his head, smiling. "Impatient now?"  
  
"Yeah- not got long left," Party urges gently, arching his hips down slowly.  
  
Korse kisses him. "Point."  
  
"Just give it to me-" Party mutters, "I don't even want your fingers, just fucking give it me. Please..."  
  
Korse lays a hand over his mouth til he quiets, then uncaps the lube. Party whines a little, arching his hips again needily. Korse slicks up his cock, and Party moves into place immediately. He groans through the gaps in Korse's fingers when he sinks down on him.  
  
"You feel so good, baby," he mutters.  
  
Korse frames one cheek with his hand; kisses him hard as he guides his hips with the other. "So do you," he breathes, "you look- like this- you look perfect." Party kisses him back, whimpering into his mouth with each rock. The rhythm is perfect, tight and slow and intimate, and Korse watches the arch of Party's hips; holds him gently as he surges into every roll of his body. Party's hair flutters with his movements, lashes shading his eyes. He kisses Korse deeply, tangling his arms around his neck.  
  
"Make me, make -" Party chokes. He's desperate to come.  
  
"No," Korse tugs him down sharply, nosing under his jaw, "I'm not finished with you yet."  
  
"Please," Party breathes, hands searching.  
  
"No," Korse says again, and he pushes Party's hands behind him; holds them there as he fucks him harder, kissing under his ear, keeping him close with his other arm. Party's teeth sink into his lower lip and he arches into the kiss. He shivers when Korse tips him to one side onto the mattress; leaves his hands behind his back as he leans on the bracket of his arm to fuck him harder, touching his hair with the hand under his side, the other grabbing at his hip for leverage. He bites at his throat, thrusting long and deep and hard. "Want you to feel me for days."  
  
"I will, I will," Party gasps. His muscles flex as he shakes.  
  
"Don't come, not yet," Korse breathes, but the angle of his thrusts is making it so hard; Party is straining to stay contained. He yelps when Korse's teeth catch his throat a little too hard. That will definitely leave a mark.  
  
"Korse," he pleads again weakly, because he's so close he hurts, cock flushed and shining with slick against his belly, muscles all drawn tight, "please- please make me come-"  
  
"Me first," Korse laughs, a growl underneath it.  
  
"Oh fuu-uck-" Party whines and his teeth are bared against the effort, and he doesn't want to move his hands, not least because Korse hasn't said he can, but because he thinks even the slightest touch would make him fucking explode. "I can't- I'm- I can't-"  
  
Korse kisses him again and stops up the protests. He gives Party's hair a gentle yank as he pulls him away. "You can, and you will."  
  
Party is panting uncontrollably against his cheek. Korse knows he's pushing it, but he wants to; he can't get enough of Party like this, wild and needy. He slows the rocks of his hips and grins when Party keens.  
  
"You're a monster," Party tells him, chest heaving.  
  
Korse's grin cuts into the meat of his shoulder as he resumes his previous pace. He can't hold it steady for too long, though, too needy himself. He's close when he feels Party drawing tighter, and he bites harder; shoves faster to beat him there. It steals his breath when he finally comes.  
  
He fucks Party harder through it, hips working slickly at the strange angle, and he only stops when Party is thrashing with need; when the mess is starting to drip back out of him with every stroke and he's starting to go soft. He pulls out; presses back in with his fingers and wraps a hand around Party's cock as he fingers him deep and wet.  
  
"Are you ready to come?" he says softly. Party whimpers a yes, hips bucking. He fucks into Korse's hand with his mouth open. "Okay, whenever you're ready," he murmurs. He keeps fucking him with three fingers, beckoning it out of him as he pulls at his cock.  
  
Party cries out and arches, spilling across Korse's fingers. It's so fucking good he thinks maybe it was fucking worth all Korse's teasing, raw and loud and almost painful. He goes limp into Korse's arms. "Fuck- Jesus- you're a prick-" he heaves, whining when Korse extricates his fingers gently.  
  
"You like it," Korse murmurs.  
  
"Mmyeah." Party rolls onto his stomach, panting softly, eyes drifting shut. "Fuck. You don't have to go now do you?"  
  
"No. Soon. Time for one more shower," Korse suggests.  
  
"Ugh." Party rolls his eyes; tugs him in closer. "Hug me first."  
  
Korse chuckles. "Infant." He hugs him tightly, though, face in Party's hair.  
  
"What does that make you?" Party purrs, and Korse tugs warningly at a lock.  
  
"Don't be rude."  
  
"As if I could stop." Party nuzzles his neck.  
  
"You could have a go," Korse grumbles, but he's still holding on, still breathing soft and even against Party's neck, reluctant to let go.  
  
"Nice try." Party kisses him over and over, tiny kisses against his jaw. He feels Korse sigh and knows if he keeps it up, they won't have time to shower. He feels quietly sick at the thought that he doesn't want to leave. Ghoul will kill him if he ever finds out. Maybe literally. He makes himself sit up, and get off the bed. "Come on," he cajoles gently.  
  
"You go," Korse murmurs. "I'm going to pack you some things." Party looks like he's considering arguing, but he doesn't, for once, just sighs and goes to shower.  
  
He makes it a long, steamy one. Easy enough with no distractions. When he comes out, he starts searching around for his clothes, discarding his towel after he's dried off. The thought of putting them on his clean body is a little irksome but it'll do. He leaves the shirt and jacket off for now, trailing back into the kitchen where Korse is packing a bag. There's a bowl sitting on the counter.  
  
"Eat," he urges.  
  
Party complies without hesitation: he's always hungry. It's cold pasta. Leftovers, probably. He barely understands the word, these days. But it's good, not that it would have stopped him if it weren’t. There's fucking green stuff in it, which is a fucking revelation. He shoves in mouthfuls, watching Korse with wide eyes.  
  
Korse watches back, hesitating over the bag he's packing.  
  
"Okay-?" Party says indistinctly.  
  
"Yeah, sorry," Korse mutters. "Not really looking forward to this."  
  
Party watches him, stomach lurching. He feels abruptly sick. "I don't wanna leave you," he mumbles weakly. He slips off the counter stool and into Korse's arms. He doesn't know how it got this way, he's not sure it was meant to. He's ignored all the warning signs though, just like he always does. With a sigh he breaks away, and they continue getting ready in relative quiet.  
  
The journey out of the city is tense. Party sits up front this time, dressed up in the drac gear. "Ghoul will fucking murder me when he sees this," he mutters. Korse is driving him back to where he found him, where he's stashed the bike he borrowed from Kobra.  
  
"Is he going to see it?" Korse asks mildly.  
  
"No- but it'll be useful- if I can keep it... So maybe, eventually," he adds.  
  
"Is it just him you're worried about?" Korse asks.  
  
Party glances at him; shrugs one shoulder up weakly. "Kinda. The Kobra Kid always supports me, and Jet can see the benefit of this kind of thing. Am I making you hate him?"  
  
"What do you want me to say to that, Party? We were never going to get on."  
  
That's all he says, too. Party pouts. He didn't know what he expected.  
  
"It doesn't sound like he likes me all that much, either," Korse adds quietly.  
  
Once they clear the City, it doesn't take long for Korse to return Party to where he'd picked him up. He seems reluctant to open the door. Korse can sympathise.  
  
"Send me another message when you can come back out here?" Party says hopefully.  
  
"I will," Korse nods gently, "I'll come for you, don't worry. Don't come here again okay? It's not safe." He touches under his chin gently. "Promise me."  
  
Party nods. "I promise."  
  
Korse pulls him in; kisses him deep and gentle, then nudges him. "Go on."  
  
Party shimmies out of the white suit, then glances at Korse and tucks it away in the bag Korse had packed for him. He slides out of the car and goes behind a rock outcropping. Korse hears the cough of a bike engine. He waits until he sees Party zip away into the distance before he peels out from his hiding place, back to his main route. He knocks the tracker back on haphazardly and turns the static up loud.

It’s interrupted a few miles later, with an incoming transmission. Korse connects it without looking at the glass screen: he knows who it’ll be.

“Head Exterminator, I’d like an update on your current progress.”

“Chairwoman. Chase commenced with subject Party Poison, heading back for debrief,” he lies effortlessly, “him and the Killjoys were sneaking around the city walls looking to trade. They evaded capture but I’ve got a scout squad out, chasing them toward another unit. I’ve narrowed down their location to Zone 4.”

“And you think you’ll be able to narrow it down further?”

“As always, I’m confident I will.”

“Good. Your efforts so far have been tantalizing. You’ve had several near misses. You’re on his heels.”

“We closed down a ring they’ve been using, and one of my patrols raided a warehouse they’d been using for contraband last night. They’re running out of places to go.” This was not a lie, but it also hadn’t been on Korse’s agenda. His second in command had acted on a tip. And, ostensibly, Korse is still on the case of tracking down and eliminating the Killjoys and their peers.

“See to it that they do,” her voice takes on the silky tone that makes Korse cringe. He can almost see her in her leather and vinyl. “Party Poison needs to be punished.”

In the privacy of his car, Korse bares his teeth in a smile.


	8. Chapter 8

It's a nasty day, thick yellowish clouds gathering in the distance, but Party takes his time getting back to the gas station. As soon as he pulls up, Ghoul bursts out of the doors, closely pursued by Kobra. This doesn't fucking look good. He drops the bike down as he steps off it, and Ghoul is on him before he can even ask, teeth bared and fist raised.  
  
"You fucking asshole," he yells.  
  
"What the fuck-?" Party starts, but Ghoul is hitting him, once and then again, hard before Kobra can wrestle him off. He takes Party straight down to the ground, and it fucking hurts like hell with the fresh welts on his ass and thighs.  
  
"You motherfucker!" Ghoul screams. "You blind motherfucker, he's pulling you away so he can get to us! What did you fucking tell him-?!"  
  
"Jesus fuck, Ghoul, I didn't tell him fucking anything. What is your damage?"  
  
"They got to the warehouse! All that work! All those supplies! They killed everyone guarding the place! They fucking killed them and it's because they knew we'd be able to do jack shit about it without you, you fucking asshole!"  
  
Party sprawls where he fell and stares. "You have guns, don't you?" he snarls. "Don't put this on me."  
  
"As soon as you fucking left, we got word! As soon as they saw you leave-! Don't you get it? He's using you!" Party has never seen Ghoul this angry, pale and raging. "We went as soon as we got word on the radio, but they radioed _you first,_ and you didn’t answer. And yeah, we had fucking guns, Party, but there were fucking dozens of them!”

The news about the radio stings. Party had left it with his bike; had thought nothing of it. Not that he’d have been able to do anything if he had, because he was in the City.

“Stroya’s sake, Party. You said you were keeping us safe!”   
  
"I am. We have a deal," Party grits. "He can’t just stop doing his job because I’m fucking him. He was with me all night, he probably had nothing to do with this."  
  
"Bullshit he didn't." Ghoul spits. Kobra is still hanging onto him and Party can see that he looks unsure. He blanches weakly.  
  
"Where's Jet-?"  
  
"Inside," Kobra says, "he's not... It's not like. He'll be fine."  
  
"Shit..." Party gets to his feet, and Ghoul is still throwing daggers from his eyes. "Fucking stop that shit, Ghoul, I had no fucking idea and neither did he." He sneers, because he's really fucking sick of this, "We didn't exactly have time to be commanding raids between bouts."  
  
Kobra can't keep a hold; Ghoul wrenches free and slaps Party hard enough that his face reels sideways.  
  
"You think you're being some big martyr, Party, but you're not," he spits, "you think he's gonna get one taste of you and you're gonna be so fucking sweet that he can't help but be at your beck and call. Maybe he is, but I fucking ain't. You're meant to be our fucking leader. You're meant to be here, with us, not off screwing the guy who fucks us over on the regular!"  
  
"You think I don't feel bad about that?" Party shouts. "I'm just telling you whatever happened was not fucking related to me."  
  
"You're blind." Ghoul shakes his head. "He must be one hell of a fucking lay, Party, because he's making you fucking forget who you are. My Party would never have fucking left us for sex, for food, for safety, because we always were safe together! We always had those things as long as we stuck together! You're selling yourself to him for safety but we ain't safe without you!" His eyes are wild, but he's pleading. Party doesn't know what to say. "You don't know that had nothing to do with him, Party. Even if he didn't send them, then they came because he wasn't around either."  
  
"Ghoul," Party pleads, picking up the backpack where it fell. "I brought food, pills, other stuff. I brought it back for us."  
  
"I don't want his fucking food," Ghoul says, quieter now. Party feels himself getting smaller, shrinking under the disappointment in his face.  
  
"It's mine," he says. "Don't you want mine?"  
  
Ghoul shoves at him weakly, temper flaring. "I don't care about fucking food! I told you to tell me if you loved him and you said no!"  
  
"I love you," Party whispers.  
  
"But you love him too, and loving him is making you a giant tool." Ghoul turns away, heading back toward the gas station, kicking up the dirt as he goes.  
  
Party looks at Kobra. "He... He's just upset you were gone so long," Kobra murmurs, eyes down, "and that Jet got hurt."  
  
"No he's not," Party sighs.  
  
"No, I guess he's mad you're being kind of a tool," Kobra admits quietly. He picks up the dropped bike. "He still loves you though. We still love you." He stops and looks back at Party. "Are you in love with him?"  
  
"Kobra-" Party protests weakly, "what fucking difference does it make?"  
  
"Just how much I'll worry about you from now on," Kobra says. "Go in and see Jet. Ghoul will -"  
  
"Get over it? Maybe he won't."  
  
"He will if you stop rubbing it in his face," Kobra corrects. He nods him on, and Party sighs, goes to leave, and then pauses.  
  
"I think I am," he whispers, then he goes inside.  
  
Jet's banged up pretty bad, but nothing worse than they've had before. He at least doesn't refuse some of the food and water. Ghoul leaves the room as soon as Party goes in, and manages to vanish for the rest of the day. Leant into Jet's side, silence apologetic, Party just tries not to think about it. He helps Jet tape up a few scrapes and cuts, chewing his lip guiltily.  
  
"You're both wrong, you know. They're never all gonna leave us alone," Jet says thoughtfully after a while. "The price on our heads is too fucking high."  
  
"Ghoul's right though, I should have been here sooner," Party mumbles.  
  
"Where were you?" Jet asks.  
  
Party shrugs his shoulders. "With Korse." Jet doesn't need to know he went into the city. None of them need to know. He's watching Party like he can read his mind, but he doesn't ask, just holds his hands out for the backpack.   
  
"Did I hear you say you had painkillers?"  
  
"Yeah," Party hands it over, forgetting about the jumpsuit until Jet pulls it out.  
  
His eyes widen, and he looks at Party for a long time, then closes the bag and passes it back. "Go and fucking get rid of that before Ghoul sees it."  
  
Party bites his lip, then pulls out a pill bottle and tosses it over. "Yeah, right now. Take it easy, all right?"  
  
"You too, come right back and just fucking sit down and stay out of trouble for ten minutes, okay?" Jet shakes his head weakly, exasperated.  
  
Party snorts. "That's about my limit."  
  
He heads out and shoves the Drac suit into trunk of the Trans Am for now, hiding it under a few blankets and boxes. He goes and sits with Jet for a few hours, trying not to fret about Ghoul. It's hard when he's suddenly invisible. Even Kobra comes in, sneaking a few pieces of jerky from the bag and shrugging at Party's worried eyebrow.

He doesn't say anything, just wraps an arm loosely around Party's neck and hugs him for a moment, before moving to turn the radio on. Party sighs. This is familiar. It all is. He waits a while, then gathers some chips, some raisins, and a bottle of water, going to find Ghoul.  
  
He thinks he knows where he is, climbing the ladder to the roof of the building. The clouds are getting closer, but he sees messy black hair and knows he's right. He doesn't look angry anymore, just bone-deep tired. Party goes to him and sits close. "Ghoul," he murmurs, not sure if he's being ignored.  
  
"What." Ghoul chucks his spent butt off the edge, not looking at him.  
  
"Eat something?" Party tries. When Ghoul doesn't respond, he reaches out to him; touches his thigh gently. He hesitates for a moment, then edges a tiny bit closer. "I'm sorry, baby. I'm really sorry."  
  
Ghoul doesn't look at him. "Sorry for what you did, or sorry that I'm mad?"  
  
"I'm sorry I wasn't here," Party says, and he is. He would never have gone if he'd have thought there would be trouble- if he thought anyone was going to get blasted off the top of their boots, "and I'm sorry I've... I'm sorry I've been..."  
  
"A selfish tool?" Ghoul suggests.  
  
"I was gonna say insensitive, but that works too." Party nudges Ghoul with his fingers again. "Gonna eat, FG?"  
  
He doesn't say anything to that, just huffs and takes the chips off Party, opening them up and shoving a few in his mouth as he looks determinedly away from him. Watching him eat is a relief that Party can't quite explain.  
  
"I don't- I don't care that you fuck other people Party," he says suddenly, voice a little indistinct, "shit, I wouldn't normally care who you fuck- but does it have to be him?"  
  
"I didn't want to actually want it," Party says after a moment.  
  
Ghoul sighs. "I know, but Party... He's not one of us, and he's never going to be. What do you think is gonna happen? That he's gonna leave the city and be with you? That he's going to overthrow an empire that have given him everything he has? He's not. He's not going to choose this-" he gestures around them, their desert wasteland, "over the kind of luxury we can't even fucking imagine, is he?"  
  
Party can't help thinking of Korse's apartment, luxurious, cool and sterile. He doesn't know the answer to that question, and he's not sure he wants to.  
  
"Party," Ghoul says again gently, "how do you really think this is going to end? He'll have to come for us eventually. Such a fucking idealist," Ghoul adds with a sigh.  
  
Party feels something prickle in his throat. He watches him eat, and says, "Ghoul," in a voice he's not sure even belongs to him, pleading and soft.  
  
"I love you," Ghoul tells him, unsentimentally.  
  
Party nods, then pushes under his arm, curling close into his side. Ghoul makes him feel safe. He probably hasn't paid enough attention to the reverse being true. Even so, he's curling his arm around him and holding him close, sighing against his hair. He's sorry. But maybe not sorry enough to stop.  
  
"I can hear what you're thinkin', Party," Ghoul murmurs and kisses the top of his head, "and I know you don't believe me, but... I don't think this'll end well, babe."  
  
"None of this is gonna end well," Party sighs.  
  
"You're right, for once."  
  
"And you say I'm an idealist," Party chuckles sadly. He's exhausted.  
  
"You are an idealist, you think this is gonna be some great story people tell, after we're gone, Party... But it's not. It'll just be something that happened when we were young." He picks up the raisins and eats. Party waits. "But hey," Ghoul says with a shrug, offering him the pack, "you'll figure that out yourself I guess."  
  
"No I won't, I'll be dusted."  
  
"Maybe, I'll try to keep you safe though. I can only do that if I know where you are, mind."  
  
"I know," Party mumbles, closing his eyes as Ghoul strokes through his hair.  
  
"You asshole," Ghoul breathes. He hides a kiss in Party's hair and looks back to the horizon. "Gonna be real messy out here in about an hour."  
  
"How come?"  
  
"That storm is heading our way," Ghoul says knowledgeably.  
  
"Yeah," Party sighs, nosing closer, "s'gonna get cold."  
  
"Yeah it will." Ghoul's still petting Party's hair.  
  
"I love you," Party says quietly, and then, "I guess we should batten down the hatches or something."  
  
"I sorta want to just stay up here," Ghoul says thoughtfully.  
  
Party thinks about it. "Okay..." He curls in closer.  
  
"You smell good," Ghoul says.  
  
"I had a wash," Party explains.  
  
"Fucking right you did," Ghoul says, looking him over. Party refuses to blush; looks away instead. "You look pretty when you're not all crusty," Ghoul tells him.  
  
"You look pretty when you're not yelling at me. Well, you look pretty all the time. Even when you're crusty."  
  
"Which is always," Ghoul says, his hair falling over his face with a sudden gust of wind.  
  
"Hence, pretty all the time."  
  
"Don't make me yell at you all the time, then," Ghoul suggests.  
  
"Maybe just accept that I'm a fuck up and there's no point yelling at me," Party counters smartly, and he shifts carefully into Ghoul's lap.  
  
"It makes me feel better," Ghoul shrugs. He doesn't acknowledge his sudden lapful, but his hands settle onto Party's thighs.  
  
"Can I stay here and watch the storm with you?" Party asks softly.  
  
Ghoul snorts. "Do I have a choice?"  
  
"Yeah... If you want me to leave you alone I will," Party shrugs.  
  
Ghoul doesn't answer right away, watching the clouds roll in. Party sighs; moves to get off him. Ghoul's really good at the cold shoulder. He heads for the ladder, sighing heavily. He knows he deserves it, is the problem.  
  
"Party," Ghoul says, questioning.  
  
He stops. "Yeah?"  
  
"You're going to get an umbrella. Right? And some more chips."  
  
Party smiles. "Yeah, I am."  
  
"Well hurry up," Ghoul continues, "it's gonna start any minute."  
  
"Yessir," Party murmurs, moving faster. When he comes back, hauling a battered umbrella and a wide leather tarp they found once in an abandoned factory, it's starting to rain. Ghoul has rigged a windbreak out of a broken board. He helps Party lay down the tarp in silence. Once they're settled, Party hands Ghoul the umbrella and shrugs on his jacket, curling close. Party doesn't really want to talk, for once. Just watch the clouds roll in.  
  
*  
  
Party swings by the mailbox and parks with an irritable squeal of the Trans Am's tires. He was just here two days ago, but his patience is wearing thin. He opens it up clumsily, falling over himself in his haste, and he nearly groans aloud when he sees the envelope. He tears into it right there, leant against the hot metal.  
  
I'm sorry, Red, it opens. can you be at the motel in three days' time? It's the soonest I can get away. It's unsigned, but it doesn't need to be.  
  
He screws it up and shoves it in his bag. Three days. He can do this. He's gonna be bouncing off the walls, but he can do it.  
  
If any of the others notice he's highly strung over the following days, they don't say. On the morning of the third, he kisses Ghoul goodbye and promises he won't be longer than a couple of days, and he leaves tell of where he'll be with Kobra. He doesn't entirely trust Ghoul with that information. Ghoul probably doesn't think he's going on a supply run, either, but his goodbye kiss isn't fuller of teeth than usual.  
  
"I love you," Party tells him as he loads the car. Ghoul just nods at him in the rearview as he pulls away.  
  
It's hard to be careful driving to the motel. He wants to just put the pedal down. The drive is fucking long though and he doesn't want to push the car, so he just smokes cigarettes, blasts the radio, and keeps his eyes peeled. His throat is a little raw from the smoke and the singing along by the time he sees the faded, leaning sign.  
  
He shuts off the noise and ditches the butt, tucking the car around the back of the motel and getting out, peering around for signs of Korse's car. He doesn't see anything, but someone was here recently, he can tell, so he spends some time poking through all the rooms. Out of habit, he unholsters his raygun; charges it as he walks, ears straining for sound. He finds a locked door where there's not usually a locked door and grins as he kicks it open. Runners should know better, fuck. It's the room from a few months before, he realizes. Party's blanket is still there on the mattress, and there's another one, too, folded neatly at the end. He peers into the room and, when he doesn't see anyone, goes to examine it.  
  
There's a bag sitting on the floor. Party snoops. Food and water, so Korse has to be here somewhere. "Y'know," he calls absently, "you could always just tell me where you are, and save me looking."  
  
"Shut it, Red," Korse replies from somewhere nearby.  
  
Party looks around; grins at him where he's stood in the doorway of the adjoining room. He slings his own pack down and moves to Korse, failing to keep his movements anything but excited. "K, what've you been up to, I've been waiting." Korse's jacket sleeves are rough-soft under his hands.  
  
"Working, Red. Always just working. Throwing a lot of false leads." He looks tired. Always tired. He turns his hands up to let Party lace their fingers together.  
  
"Don't you sleep?" Party scolds. "You look like shit."  
  
"I could say the same to you, did you actually eat any of the food I gave you or did you give it all to those kids I saw you with?"

One of the Killjoys’ main gigs is the supply carting they do. Robin-Hooding this and that is easy enough, Battery City is a wasteful empire, and there are plenty of lowlives in the gutters who’re happy to steal and sell and trade. Drugs, information, scavenged metal – all things the Killjoys have ready access to. And in return, food, toiletries, credits, medicine. There are plenty of kids without parents these days, and Party and the others have no intention of letting any of them go hungry.   
  
Party shrugs a shoulder. "They needed it. You were watching that?"  
  
"Fuck, Red, how many times do I have to tell you we have cameras all over One and Two." Korse pulls him closer. "What about your guys?"  
  
"My guys? What about 'em?" Party can't stop watching him.  
  
"You gave it all to them, too, didn't you?"  
  
"They're more important than me," Party grumbles. "Specially Jet, since -" he clams up. Maybe that's over the line.  
  
Korse watches him, expression indecipherable. "What's wrong...?"  
  
"Your goons, they dusted some of our buddies a couple weeks ago near the canyon, Jet got busted up trying to help."  
  
Korse frowns. "When was that? I haven't authorized any raids in Zone 4. Other Exterminators might have, I’m not the only one out there."  
  
Party tries to count back. "Seventeen days. I think. DPeg gas station."  
  
The frown deepens, he's clearly thinking. "I don't remember setting that one up. I wish I knew where you hang, Red."  
  
Party pauses, then looks down, biting his lip. "Yeah. Ghoul was really... He was fucking pissed. He thought you'd... Because I wasn't there but- I, how could you have if you didn't know where we were?"  
  
"I couldn't have. I wouldn't have," Korse says.  
  
"I, yeah. It... He." Party sighs, then raises his head. "You gonna kiss me or what?"  
  
"Yes," Korse murmurs, pulling him close.  
  
Party grins wide, leaning in to receive it, not quite chaste. "Missed me?"  
  
"I did. It's - different, now that you've been there."  
  
"Different?" Party tilts his head.  
  
Korse cups his cheek. "I keep thinking of you in my place."  
  
Party's stomach clenches weakly at the words. He presses into the touch, sighing. "So do I."  
  
Korse kisses him again. "And now I have to worry about patrols getting too close to you."  
  
"Not as much as I do," Party says idly, but he leans up to kiss Korse again slowly. "I see you brought another blanket," he murmurs. "Want to break it in?"  
  
Korse smiles softly, nodding as he brushes his thumb over Party's brow gently, down the bridge of his nose and over the bow of his lip. He sighs. "Yeah, sure."  
  
"What is it?" Party asks.  
  
"I'm just happy to see you," Korse says softly, "there's a decided lack of color when you're not around."  
  
"Guess so." Party smooths his hands up inside Korse's jacket. He's still watching him like he's not sure he's real. Party wants to show him he is. He pushes up to kiss him, hard this time, fingers knotting in the fabric. "I want you," he whispers.  
  
Korse makes a soft, pleased noise against his lips. He pushes fingers through Party's hair. "Same." He watches Party grin and step away; hums approvingly at his grin as he steps back and wriggles out of his jacket; starts undoing his jeans.  
  
"So come on," Party says.  
  
Korse starts unclasping his holster, shrugging out of his jacket. He can't stop watching Party, the way soft bars of sunlight hit him through the boarded windows as he unbuckled the straps from around his thighs; kicks off his boots. It's only been a couple weeks, and he's looking dirty and too-thin again. It's a nearly physical pain. The marks from their last encounter are still there when he shucks his jeans, faint and yellowed but there. He has to ask. "Was he unhappy?" he murmurs, touching a faint stripe.  
  
"Well, he didn't talk to me for three days, but after that he was fine," Party murmurs, and he's working on Korse's shirt now, pleased that he's wearing a little less than usual. "Casual today, aren't you," he murmurs.  
  
"Thought I'd save you some bitching," Korse grins.  
  
"But that's no fun," Party teases, tugging the fabric out of the jeans.  
  
Korse takes his face in his hands and kisses him. He can't wait anymore. "Get up there," he murmurs against his lips, shoving his pants down. Party grins, that cocksure, crooked grin that shows off sharp teeth.  
  
"Make me."  
  
Korse laughs and smacks his thigh. "Go, now. I want to watch."  
  
"What exactly is it you want to watch?" Party goes, watching him over his shoulder.  
  
"I like to watch you crawl," Korse murmurs.  
  
Party grins and pauses a little way from the bed. "Oh yeah. I never did for you, that time, did I?"  
  
"Not really, no." Naked, Korse crosses his arms and waits with a grin.  
  
Party looks around, then he shrugs and sinks down to his hands and knees. He makes a show of crawling the rest of the way to the bed, the light moving over his skin in strips. He slinks up onto the mattress and waits there on all fours.  
  
Korse steps closer, lets a hand smooth over his ass and down his thigh. "Fuck," is all he can say.  
  
"Yeah, baby," Party grins. Korse kneels onto the bed behind him, hands travelling over his skin, everywhere. His teeth find the small of his back and Party shivers. "Need you, K." He looks over his shoulder, hand searching back to touch him.  
  
"Need you too," Korse breathes, searching out the lube, "I can't wait, I need-"  
  
"Do it," Party urges. He groans weakly at the feel of slick fingers pressing between his cheeks; the hot touch of Korse's tongue. He could almost collapse with relief. That scares him. He never thought he would need him, never thought the idea of being without him would be painful. He shivers and buries his face in the shelter of his arms. Korse moans softly against his skin and Party shivers again. "Fuck, please," he whispers, arching into his touch.  
  
Korse twists his fingers, beckoning to make Party moan. He keeps going until he's panting and keening, fisting the blankets beneath them. "How do you want it, love?" Korse murmurs.  
  
"Like this- now-" Party breathes. Korse makes a noise of acknowledgement and withdraws his fingers, shifting behind Party's hips. "Yeah, yeah yeah-" Party whines. Korse lines up and thrusts in hard, folding over Party's back. He's shivering, arching into the steady pressure of his hips. "Korse- fuck-!"  
  
Korse grips him tight, groaning his name. He rocks forward slowly, cupping his hips. Party braces himself on one hand, reaching for his cock. "Tell me how it feels-" Korse murmurs.  
  
"Perfect," Party gasps, "please harder."  
  
"Like this?" Korse bites at his shoulder; jolts his hips fractionally harder.  
  
"Baby, yeah," Party says. "Do it again, please -"  
  
"Yeah?" Korse complies, bracing his hand against the wall for purchase, pushing faster, deeper.  
  
Party keens. "I missed you."  
  
"I missed you," Korse agrees, licking the nape of his neck, the salt on his skin. Party bites his lip, stroking himself fast. "Slow down," Korse mutters, nipping gently, "want to take my time with you."  
  
"Sorry," Party whispers. He doesn't stop though. Korse laughs and just moves harder into him, breathing fast.  
  
"Not a word I ever thought I'd hear you say, Party."  
  
"Shut up," Party whines, twisting his hand.  
  
Korse laughs; grabs at a handful of his hair and tugs as he fucks him harder. Soon they're both moaning. Korse presses as close as he can get. The heat of Party's skin is overwhelming. He's going to come, faster than he wants to. He shivers; pushes his cheek against Party's over his shoulder and sighs. "Party--"  
  
"S'ok, baby," Party hums.  
  
"Gonna fuck you again in an hour-" Korse breathes, "make you come as many times as I can before we go-"  
  
"Yes, fuck yeah." Party bucks back against him.  
  
"Gonna come first for me?" Korse murmurs, and he wraps his hand around Party's, moving his hand faster around his cock. "Come on, pretty thing, show me how loud you can be."  
  
Party laughs, bucking back against Korse and letting himself moan at each stroke. He's close; was from the second Korse started to fuck him, and he's breathing raggedly now, leaking and tensing as he gets closer and closer. He squeezes his eyes shut and fucks into his hand until he spills over and lets out a yell.  
  
Korse doesn't stop milking him until he whines softly in protest, and then he pulls out; pushes Party onto his back and starts to stroke himself, fingers still wet with Party's come. Party watches, mouth gaping. "Yeah- yeah," he tugs him closer, until Korse's supporting hand finds the mattress by his shoulder, their mouths inches apart. "All over me," he breathes.  
  
"Going to cover you in my come, so everyone knows who you belong to," Korse agrees roughly, breaths staggering as he edges. Party curls a hand around the back of his neck and pushes up into a kiss. He groans weakly when he feels Korse lose it; feels hot and wet hit his chest and stomach in stripes. Korse rears back to get a look at him, chest heaving, eyes hot. "Mine," he says softly, and Party groans when he leans down to kiss his throat.  
  
"K," he whispers, stretching under him as Korse curls around him, "K, I love you." Korse freezes. He pulls back to look at him, eyes disbelieving.  
  
"What?"  
  
Party freezes too, mouth open. "I -" He hadn't meant to say that, fuck.  
  
"Party?" He's frowning, searching his face.  
  
"I'm sorry," he says again, "but Korse..."  
  
"Red," he says quietly, and he slides one arm gently under his neck; hems him in with the other above his head so their foreheads are pressed together, "you must know that I- feel-"  
  
"I dunno anything, K," Party tells him, trying to hold back a hysterical laugh.  
  
Korse watches him, so close his face is blurred. "I love you, too," he murmurs.  
  
"I think I'm having a heart attack," Party gasps.  
  
"Shut up, you little shit," Korse mumbles.  
  
"Make me." He tries, unsuccessfully, to stifle a grin against his lips as Korse kisses him. His arms fold slowly around his neck. His entire body is trembling slightly, but so warm. Korse's body is a reassuring weight on top of him. He sighs and hums softly against his lips. "S'nice, baby."  
  
Korse grins softly. "You can't even get out a whole sentence?"  
  
"No sir," Party murmurs, "you got me so stupid." That gets him a smug little smile.  
  
"Stupid, huh?"  
  
"Hey," Party protests.  
  
"What now?" Korse brings his hand down to stroke over his brows gently; smooth scattered strands of hair back from his face.  
  
Party's eyes flutter closed. "No idea."  
  
"Didn't think so." Korse can feel himself smiling, an unfamiliar warmth in his chest. He strokes the tips of his fingers down over Party's nose and lips and whatever it is clenches. "You're gorgeous," he says, because it's easy.  
  
Party grins wide, eyelashes touching his brows when he looks up at him, bathed in sunlight. "So're you. Smokes, we're so fucked."   
  
They are. It's not worth denying. Korse sighs and nods. "Maybe we should just cut our losses; migrate to Mexico."  
  
Party bites his lip. "Don't say it unless you mean it."  
  
"What if I do mean it?" Korse fixes Party with a look. "It'd be a crowded car with me and all your guys."  
  
Party grins weakly. "Crowded and dangerous." The grin is threatening to disappear. Korse smooths his hair back.   
  
"We both know who you'd choose if you ran."  
  
"Shut up, you don't know anything," Party argues. He looks a little wounded by the accusation. "'Stroya's sake, K, if I thought you'd really leave I'd come help you hand in your resignation letter."  
  
All Korse can do is kiss him. "We'll go tomorrow shall we? I'm sure the Chairwoman will give me some great fucken' references."  
  
Party pouts. "S'not funny."  
  
"No, it's not," Korse sighs, "she'd give me shitty references because I fell in love with the fugitive, I was meant to be bringing in."  
  
Party's eyes soften again. "You love me."  
  
"I love you," he murmurs. The admission has shaken him. He can't do anything but curl around Party and hold him. Party strokes down his neck and over his shoulder, eyes soft and serious, strange on his usually animated face. There's no way this ends well. They both know that. Korse sighs and brushes his hair back, touching down over his chin, skin rasping against fair stubble. He sighs and shakes his head, apropos to nothing but the heavy knowledge sitting over them.  
  
Party turns his head and kisses his fingers. He doesn't say anything either. They lie like that for a long moment, then Korse leans and kisses him, fingers gentle on his throat. "Party," he murmurs.  
  
Party's tongue touches against his lips gently. "Yeah?"  
  
"I don't know, I just -" He sighs again. "Just kiss me."  
  
Party winds his arms around his back and obliges. They kiss for what feels like hours. Korse basks in the feeling of being alone with him. He can't shake the feeling that they're working with borrowed time. The thought makes him clutch him closer; kiss him deeper, sweeter. Party clings just as tightly.  
  
"We could go, y'know," Korse murmurs.  
  
"Go where?"  
  
"Away." He shrugs weakly, not meeting Party's eyes. "I have. Contacts. I could find us somewhere."  
  
"Maybe," is all Party says in reply. Korse looks at the ceiling and sighs. He doesn't want to think about it right now either. Instead he focuses on the constellations of freckles on Party's chest, the comet tails of scars. If he tries hard, he can memorize them. He's not sure why he thinks he needs to, but he does it anyway, with touch and tongue and sound; where Party's breaths stutter and his hands clench on Korse's shoulders.  
  
"Please," Party whines after a while of it. Korse doesn't ask what he means, just brushes his lips lower on his navel and hums softly. He'd noticed Party was hard again a little while ago, and he was waiting. Now, with him arching softly, pushing gently at his shoulders, he's actually impressed at how long he managed to stay quiet for. He nips gently at his hip and opens his mouth to taste him.  
  
Party moans long and low when he feels Korse's lips. He manages to keep his hips still, but only just. When he sucks him gently into his mouth, he can't help but buck weakly into hot and wet, hands clasped over his eyes. "Fuck-"  
  
Korse's thumbs circle over his hipbones, soothing. Party glances down from under the shelter of his hand and meets his gaze, sucks in a breath and groans weakly at the intensity in his gaze. Jaw slack, his lips part, glistening where he's been licking them. Korse takes him deeper and Party all out moans. "Fuck- you look so good-" Korse squeezes his hips. Party smooths over his brows with a thumb. "So good," he whispers. He can't take his eyes off his lips moving slick over his skin, the cut of his cheekbones. He's gorgeous. Unforgettable.  
  
Party feels something hot and uncomfortable twist in his chest. His body can't decide if all of this is pleasure or torture. Korse is sucking him in long, hot strokes, agonisingly steady, hands holding him in place. He shivers and tips his head back slowly. He gasps Korse's name when he can't take it any longer.  
  
"What is it you want, Party?" he murmurs, lips buzzing against his skin.  
  
"To come, please," he begs.  
  
"With my mouth? Like this?"  
  
Party hesitates, then nods. Korse watches him as he takes him back into his mouth, one hand dipping between his thighs to stroke over his hole, still soft and wet. Party's movements are all helpless. He arches into it, groaning muffledly into his hands. Korse keeps his eyes shut, listening for his breath to break. He eases a finger into him, humming when Party's hips tip, thighs bowing further apart to accept him.  
  
Korse loves how utterly easy he is. He shows him; fucks him fast with two as he sucks him. Party bucks and cries out, loud enough that his throat must be raw. He doesn't stop though, keeps going until he has to hold Party down. He comes against his tongue and down his chin, hands scrabbling at his shoulders to hold on. The noise he makes is incredible.  
  
"Party," Korse breathes. He's so gorgeous it hurts.  
  
"Awh fuck yeah-" he runs his hands through his hair, arching, chest still heaving. "Nobody makes me come like you do," he mumbles, still grasping at Korse's shoulders.  
  
Korse kisses him to stifle his honesty, licking into his mouth, hands lingering on his thighs. He can't concentrate on anything else right now, not even his own body. All he can think of is tasting every last noise of need from Party's tongue. It's finally Party who pulls away.  
  
"C'n I suck you off now?" he whines. Korse hesitates, and Party scrambles to prop himself against the wall. "Come fuck my mouth," he breathes.  
  
Korse stares at him for a long moment, letting out a weak noise of want, then he nods. Party sprawls, waiting. Korse crawls closer. "You're so filthy," he says, almost wondering. Party grins and hauls him closer.  
  
"The filthiest. You love it."  
  
"It's- yeah, it's not my least favorite thing-" Korse gasps when Party takes him into his mouth, palms against the back of his thighs where he's knelt over his lap. He bows his head, looking down on Party's tangled roots and his pink lips, watching as he thrusts. Party swallows him down; makes wet, soft choking sounds as he urges his hips, lashes dark against his cheeks. "Party," Korse breathes, thrusting faster.  
  
He gets a soft hum in response; feels it in Party's throat and groans. It's impossible that this could be better than last time, but it feels like it. He knots his fingers gently in his hair and tugs. Party lifts his chin and Korse slides deeper down his throat. They both groan. Korse can hardly breathe; can't even pull back, just rocking to get deeper, staring at Party's nose crushed against his skin. He can feel a vibration in Party's throat, and he squeezes his eyes shut.  
  
Party's hands grab at his skin; keep him close. He can feel the squeeze of Party's throat each time he pulls back. He breathes hard through his nose. He's so close, tugging hard on Party's hair, fucking faster into his mouth. He flicks his tongue against his balls with him still stuffed down his throat and Korse groans sharply.  
  
"Mmh," Party breathes.  
  
Korse pushes him back; curls his hand around himself. "Where do you want me to come, Red?"  
  
Party laughs. "You're hoping I say face."  
  
"I'm hoping you say whatever you say fast."  
  
"Hit me," Party urges, eyes sparkling.  
  
Korse grabs a fistful of his hair with his free hand; jerks him closer as he strokes, watching him with dark eyes. Party's lids flutter down, lips parting. "C'mon," he murmurs, soft and urgent, "give it me."  
  
Baring his teeth, Korse jerks Party's head back and lets himself come. Party opens his mouth, tongue against his lower lip to catch as much as he can. He moans just as loud as Korse. He's painted in it, eyelashes and mouth and chin, and as Korse's hand slows on his cock he loosens his grip on his hair; reaches out to wipe it gently from his lashes with a thumb. He gets the urge to kiss it all off. He's in this so deep.  
  
Party is humming in content, swallowing what's on his tongue and grabbing at Korse's hand to clean off what he's wiped away. "Baby," he says softly, looking up through spiky lashes.  
  
"Mm-?" Korse was holding his breath, he realizes.  
  
"Y'good?" Party tugs him closer.  
  
Korse nods and lets his thighs drop a little, knelt face to face with Party. He reaches for his pack; pulls out some things to clean Party up with. Even so, he does end up kissing most of it away, while Party whines and clings to his forearms and generally doesn't help a single bit.  
  
"Useless," Korse murmurs, pressing another gentle kiss to the freckled bridge of his nose. He pulls Party into his lap again. "Tell me where you live, so I can keep the patrols away," he murmurs. "Or I'll worry every hour I'm not with you."  
  
Party watches him for a long moment, then he bites his lip. "I don't know if I can..."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because-" Party looks down, then he sighs softly; doesn't say the name. "I. Shit. I trust you. Shit. We squat in the Electrokat gas station in Four." He bites his lip again hard; looks up at Korse through his hair.  
  
"Thank you," Korse whispers, kissing him again, smoothing the hair out of his face.  
  
Party pushes his face into the junction of his neck to hide; shivers at the brush of his fingertips against his spine. "Don't say thank you..."  
  
"Why not, love? I mean it."  
  
Party headbutts him gently. "Why?"  
  
"Thank you for trusting me. Thank you for letting me take care of you. No one has ever done that before," Korse murmurs.  
  
The space between them is filled with splintered sunlight and dust particles. Party has never seen Korse look so calm, so certain. "Thank you for showing me who you are," he whispers.  
  
They just look at one another for a moment. Then Korse laughs. "From one naked man to another."  
  
Party chuffs in frustration; elbows him gently. "Asshole."  
  
Korse kisses him instead. They fit together, Party neat and small in the circle of his arms. He didn't think it would be like this. He didn't think he'd ever have this. He doesn't want to let it go. "Are you hungry? Do you want to sleep?"  
  
"I could do both of those things," Party shrugs, "how long can you stay?"  
  
"Need to be back in the city by tonight," he hedges. That's met with an expression of discontent. "By very early tomorrow morning?" he tries again. Party looks marginally less dissatisfied, but only marginally. "Wait till you see what I brought you this time," Korse says, rummaging in the bag and pulling out a chocolate bar. That distracts him somewhat.  
  
"I can't believe they even allow that in the city now," he mutters, biting his lip.  
  
"I told you I have contacts," Korse tells him.  
  
"What, fucking Willy Wonka deals on the black market now?" Party grins, tearing into the candy bar carefully.  
  
"If that amuses you, yes," Korse shakes his head.  
  
Party grins wider. "It fucking does."  
  
"Good." Korse watches him eat with surprising delicacy. He's always surprised by Party, but most often of all by how vulnerable he seems; how unexpectedly frail he looks covered in scars and bruises, eating chocolate. He knows it's an illusion, but then again: maybe not. "Any plans for the future except anarchy?" He asks, because asking about his week seems... Well.  
  
"Ain't that enough?" Party says, wiping his mouth on the back of a hand. 

Korse smiles, holds his hands up. "I wouldn't know."  
  
"I've always sort of planned on ending up dead," Party replies, hiding his face behind his hair again. Korse watches him for a long moment. He tilts his head, then reaches out and strokes Party's hair back, tucking it behind his ear gently.  
  
"I'd much rather you didn't."  
  
"Yeah?" Party smiles.  
  
"Definitely." He nods.  
  
Party leans up and nuzzles their cheeks together. "I love you," he whispers.  
  
Korse smiles and pets him gently, eyes soft and pleased. "I love you too," Korse murmurs, hiding the words in his hair. Party sighs. He doesn't have the energy to go again, but he craves it anyway. Korse pets down his spine, murmuring. "Sleep a little?"  
  
"Don't wanna -"  
  
"Do it anyway," Korse tells him.  
  
"And you?" Party pleads.  
  
"I just want to sit with you."  
  
"Will you at least lie down?"  
  
Korse laughs. "I suppose."  
  
"Don't sound so enthusiastic," Party needles, but he's pulling him down into his arms, pulling up the blankets. Korse goes with him, tightening the embrace. 


	9. Chapter 9

When Party wakes up a couple of hours later, Korse is still holding him just as tight as when they drifted off.

"Hey," Party mumbles, stretching against him.  
  
"Hey yourself." Korse pets his hair.  
  
"That was nice. Did you sleep?"  
  
"I dozed a little."  
  
"You should sleep now," Party frowns.   
  
Korse laughs. "Is that how you want to spend our last few hours?" He strokes down Party's back gently. "I'm not the one who has to take a watch to sleep with, princess."  
  
"Thought you were gonna fix that for me," Party grumbles.  
  
"I will." Korse smiles. "Anything else you want me to take a look at?"  
  
"Well..." Party chews his lip, thinking, then murmurs, "do you think you could bring me a first aid kit? Sometime?"  
  
"I have one in my car; you can have it." Korse licks his lips. "Anything... else?" He touches Party's cheek.  
  
Party grins. "I can think of a couple of things you can help me with right now?"  
  
"Tell me," Korse smiles back.  
  
"Well, you could let me ride you, for one..."  
  
Korse smirks. "I could."  
  
"And you could talk dirty to me while I do it, so I've got something to think about when you're gone." Party smirks right back, one eyebrow raised in a challenge.  
  
"Is that a promise?" Korse asks him.  
  
"It's a fucking oath, baby." He sits up and shifts to straddle Korse's thighs. There's a tiny, delighted edge to his smirk that makes Korse pull him in closer immediately.  
  
"You are such a troublemaker," he sighs.  
  
"Yeah, I'm your bit of rough, that's what I'm meant to be."  
  
Korse grasps his fringe and tugs him down. "We're not still on that, are we?"  
  
Party groans weakly at the tug. "Fuck- what if we are?"  
  
"Is that what you want to be? I know you get off on being treated like it."  
  
"Yeah-" Party grins, tugging his chin up against the pull on his hair, "at least like this-"  
  
"Then what do you have to say for yourself, you little slut?" Korse murmurs.  
  
Party grins, crooked and sly. "Mm- plenty," he noses at the inside of Korse's wrist, teeth catching.  
  
"I bet you do." Korse sucks in a breath.  
  
"Yeah- wanna tell you how bad I've been- " Party licks his palm; wrenches his hands from his hair so he can suck his fingers into his mouth greedily.  
  
"I'm listening," Korse says, letting him suck on them for a moment before removing them and stroking himself a few times.  
  
Party whines, arching up on his knees to watch. "Fuck myself thinking about you all the time- I can't fucking stop lately- can't stop thinking about how you taste- fuck, it makes me so fucking hard, just hearing your name-"  
  
"You do have it bad, don't you," Korse rumbles. "Shameless, dirty little boy."  
  
"So fucking bad," Party nods helplessly, starting to scramble for the lube, gaze still occupied by Korse's hand on his cock, "sometimes when I'm fucking other people, I imagine it's you- it never feels this good though-"  
  
"You'll get in a lot of trouble if you say the wrong name," Korse murmurs, licking his lips. "They'll all know then. How dirty you really are."  
  
"I couldn't get much dirtier- sometimes I slip, when I'm close, I almost start-" Party uncaps the lube; pushes Korse's hand away so he can wrap his own around him, stroke fast and slick. "What about you?" he whines.  
  
"I don't fuck anyone else, Party," Korse mutters, "not at the minute."  
  
"Not even the droids?" Party prods, hand stalling.  
  
"Haven't really felt like it-" Korse grins at the look on his face, "don't look so guilty, I thought you were a bit of rough."  
  
"I am," Party scrambles. "Jeez, K, no wonder you're so -"   
  
Korse raises an eyebrow. "I'm what?"  
  
Party grins. "Desperate for it."  
  
"Who's desperate?" Korse laughs.  
  
"Me, too," Party murmurs.  
  
"Never much liked visiting the droids," Korse replies. "I didn't like being...monitored. Even then."  
  
"And there's no one else-?" Party sounds surprised.  
  
"Everyone else is afraid of me," Korse smirks.  
  
"'Cept me," Party breathes.  
  
"You should be afraid of me."  
  
"Why should I?"  
  
"Because we're both insane and this won't end well." Korse slicks his own hand and grasps Party's cock.  
  
"Fu-uck- I know that- I'm still not scared of you though-"  
  
"Then show me how you feel," Korse drawls.  
  
Party watches him, then shifts his hips, steadying Korse with his hands as he eases over his cock, holding his gaze. "You fill me up like no one else," he purrs.  
  
Korse's hands tug gently on his hips, urging. "With my cock, or my fist?"  
  
"Oh, fuck, both," Party groans. He's rocking to get him lined up, starting to push gently. "Thought I was gonna come in ten fucking seconds when you did that to me--"  
  
"You didn't, because you know how to be good." Korse breathes hard. He's easing Party down, breathing fast and deep at the drawing heat of him.  
  
"Good for you, baby," Party keens.  
  
"I know you are, because you know better than to be bad." He moans when Party rocks his hips down.  
  
"'Cause I know you fuck me into a drooling mess when I'm good," he breathes.  
  
Korse runs rough fingers through his hair. "Always."  
  
"Will you still think of me, when this is over?" Party asks, circling his hips roughly.  
  
"Till I'm dusted," Korse murmurs.  
  
Party shivers; laces their fingers with his free hand. "You promise me?"  
  
"You're not someone to forget, Red," he says roughly.  
  
"Neither are you," Party breathes; tips his head back to fuck himself faster on his cock, breaths coming rushed. Korse smooths hands up and down his thighs. He's watching him with naked want, lips parted and chest heaving, like he's committing it to memory. "You're the best I've ever had," Party moans, rocking down.  
  
Korse closes his eyes; schools himself, "Red--"  
  
"Not a lie," Party groans.  
  
"Fuck, say it again," Korse grits, and he's tugging Party by his hips now, faster, deeper, leaning up off the mattress to kiss the centre of his chest.  
  
Party grabs at his shoulders. "The best," he repeats weakly. Korse bites at his shoulder, hard enough to bruise. Party cries out, hips jerking. "Touch me," he begs. For once, Korse complies, jacking him fast as he kisses him.  
  
He can feel Party's body clenching around him, hear his breath hitching. He strokes faster, milking noise and pleasure out of him, breathing it in. "You are the dirtiest thing I've ever seen," he hisses between his teeth.  
  
Party moans at that, arching, eyes clenching shut, body locking up. "Fu-uck-!"  
  
He can feel Party coming, and slams his hips up harder. He's so tight, so perfect, it's easy for him to hold him; come inside him after just a few more shallow rocks of his hips, clutching him close. He nips at Party's jaw, gently to make up for the bruising bite on his shoulder. He can feel he's still shivering, hands tight on Korse's shoulders. His cheek presses against Korse's temple, and he sighs.  
  
"Best I've ever had," he repeats softly, breathless.  
  
"Same," Korse murmurs.  
  
Party hums; kisses the crown of his head. "Goes without saying."  
  
"You're such an ass," Korse tells him.   
  
"You love it," Party croons, nuzzling him.  
  
"Only because it's you," Korse lets him, pushing a hand into his hair, tugging gently. Party leans down to kiss him, sloppy and sweet. They sit like that for a long time, entangled and warm. Finally, Korse sighs.  
  
"Don't say it," Party mumbles.  
  
Korse huffs a laugh against his mouth and kisses him again gently. "I have to go."  
  
"I don't want you to," Party complains softly.  
  
"I know. Doesn't mean I don't have to." Pouting. Korse laughs. "Don't, love."  
  
"Do you have to go right now?" Party whines.  
  
Korse glances out a crack in the window boards. "The longer I leave it, the harder it'll get, Red," he says softly.  
  
"The longer you leave it the more time we have," Party argues, but he knows he's losing the argument.  
  
Korse strokes down his back slowly, then kisses him. "Go on. Off. I'll be back as soon as I can."  
  
Party pulls away and goes to find his clothes, shoulders hunched. He's the picture of unhappiness. Korse dresses and tries hard not to watch at him: if Party pouts any harder, he'll cave, and he can't.  
  
"Pull your car around and we'll transfer whatever you need from mine," he suggests.  
  
"I don't want you heading back without a first aid kit, you might need it," Party mutters, pulling his boots on.  
  
"You need it more," Korse argues.  
  
"You don't know that."  
  
"I'm not arguing about this anymore, Party. I don't know when I'll be able to see you next." Korse crosses his arms.  
  
"Well maybe if you bring me an extra first aid kit, you'll have more of an incentive to find time," Party snarks. Korse is unprepared for this Party, the one who's lashing out. The one who wants more. And deserves it. He bites his lip, then shrugs.   
  
"Okay, Red. Next time, then." He hands over the bag with today's food to Party and checks his own weapons. Party is still watching him like he's prepared to pick fault, to bite. Korse's stomach is in knots. This leaving, this fighting, it's not what he wants.  
  
Party rearranges his shoulders like something is burning low between the blades and looks at the backpack. "This isn't what I want, y'know," he mutters.  
  
"This is what you said you wanted," Korse grumbles, because - it was.  
  
"No- this. This isn't all I want. From you. I- I don't need food and candy and water if I can have you. You know that, right?" Party doesn't sound as angry as Korse expected- he sounds sad, which is somehow worse.  
  
"I know, but this is what I have right now," Korse mutters. Party's gaze drops. He sighs. "I'm sorry," says Korse, entirely sincere.  
  
Party shrugs. "It's what you have right now."  
  
Korse steps close. "Red..."  
  
"Yeah?" He doesn't look up.  
  
"Don't make me say it again."  
  
"Say what?" His mouth twitches.  
  
Korse narrows his eyes. "Party."  
  
"I simply don't know what you mean," Party enunciates carefully. Korse clenches his teeth. Party has no idea how hard this is for him. He's still staring at him with that expression Korse saw in his eyes when his file first landed on his desk. Tired. Demanding. Defiant.  
  
"I love you," he finally mutters. "Don't fight me."  
  
"I'm not fighting you; I'm fighting for you." Party's gaze doesn't waver.  
  
"You'd do better to run, very far away." Korse picks up the folded blanket from the mattress and heads out the door, knowing - hoping - Party will trail behind.  
  
"Yeah? Is that what you want?" Party argues. "You want me to just let you fucking white fang me because it's dangerous? Or hard? My life is fucking dangerous and hard, all the things worth anything are."  
  
He's not wrong. Korse knows this. He sighs and starts to stow his things in the car, not sure what to say. Party mistakes his calm for indifference, but he doesn't know what good rage and recklessness will do. Recklessness gets you dead. Korse has, maybe surprisingly, decided he'd much rather stay alive.  
  
"All the good things are dangerous and hard, Party, but neither of us will get those things if we get gunned down by Scarecrow because they twig what's going on." He keeps his voice as steady as he can. "I can't let how I feel put both of us in the ground, this isn't Romeo and Juliet."  
  
Party huffs, but doesn't argue. Korse doesn't let that fool him into thinking they're in agreement. "I just don't want you to go," Party mutters finally, shrugging and looking down.  
  
"Fuck, Party, I know that." Korse slams his back door, dangling a med kit at Party. "Please?"  
  
"No, I need you to bring it with you next time," Party says quietly, "please? I don't want you to be without one anyway."  
  
"Fine." Korse tosses it back in the car and holds out a hand to Party. Party hesitates for a moment, then takes it. "Be safe," Korse murmurs.  
  
"Come back to me," Party counters gently.  
  
"I will," Korse says, leaning down to kiss him. Party lets him; bumps their noses gently. Korse kisses him harder. He feels the moment the tension relaxes between Party's shoulders; his arms coming up to fold around his neck. It seems like an endless kiss, and he wishes it were. Party seems reluctant to let go. "Stay safe," Korse tells him.  
  
"Only if you do."  
  
"Go on, Party, get out of here," Korse grumbles.  
  
Party doesn't move for a terse second, and then he goes, shoulders squared. Korse watches him go this time. He can't help it. He's never seen Party look anything but casual about it all before today. Since the city. He doesn't know how much more of this either of them can take.  
  
He watches Party leave, and then heads for his own car. He wishes he didn't have to be alone with his thoughts the whole way back to Bat City.  
  
*  
  
"Hey, Party," Jet greets him easily when he comes into the gas station. Party doesn't speak, just nods and carries on to the washroom. At least no one got shot while he was gone this time.   
  
He sighs, fills one of the cracked sinks with a little water from their supply, wets a cloth. His usual routine by now. He hates it, hates washing Korse off his skin. But he does it every time. The thought of unexpectedly catching the scent of the wintery cologne he wears makes his stomach lurch. He doesn't like being caught off guard. Not by something emotional. He wishes he could stop this sick feeling in his gut. He doesn't even know if there's anyone he can fucking talk to about it without being told he knew the answer he was looking for.  
  
He sighs again and dumps his bag in their room, then heads to the workshop. Ghoul and Kobra are in there, both poring over some kind of circuit board. Ghoul is soldering. Party leans against the door frame and waits. His talents don't run to the mechanical. He's better off over here.  
  
It's Kobra who looks up first. He smiles, just so. "Hey, Party," he says. "What's up in Three?"

"Not a heap, dust and sun, same as everywhere else," Party shrugs softly. He holds up the backpack. Kobra holds out a hand for it. "Food," Party offloads it and glances at Ghoul, his head still down, then back to Kobra, "how're things?"  
  
"Quiet. The Doc has us fixing this circuit board he found." Kobra nods at Ghoul.  
  
"Huh, well, probably keeping you out of trouble." He grins.  
  
Kobra snorts. "As if."  
  
Party glances at Ghoul once more, then shrugs. "Well if you tumbleweeds aren't doing anything fun, I'm going to catch some sleep."  
  
"Sure," Kobra says with a half-shrug.  
  
Party goes, feeling disenchantment stealing over him. He's sick of feeling like an asshole all the time...or worse, sad. He flops as dramatically as possible into bed, just in case anyone gives a fuck, and tries to calm his thoughts enough to sleep. He's still tired despite the couple hours he snatched while Korse sat watch. He doesn't feel much like negotiating the politics of it all yet either. He can feel Ghoul sulking from across the building.  
  
Maybe this time he should let Ghoul come to him. He drifts off and wonders what the likelihood is. He still loves him, is the thing. He'll always love him. He's not sure if the feeling is mutual.  
  
It's dark when he wakes up. Someone let him sleep all day. He listens for the others; wonders who's on watch. He's hungry, though, and needs to piss, so he needs to get up.  
  
As he stumbles into the workshop, he hears a scuffle of movement and whips around, eyes widening. "What -" Ghoul is there, holding a torch, a piece of jerky hanging out of his mouth.

"What're you doing, Party?"  
  
"Need the pisser," Party grunts.  
  
He's squinting in the light. Ghoul offers him the torch. "Bring it back, right?"  
  
"Course," Party replies, not sure if he's still getting the cold shoulder or not. He looks at Ghoul carefully when he brings the torch back, more awake now. "Got more of that jerky around here?" he asks lightly.  
  
Ghoul raises an eyebrow, then tilts his head. He's obviously not convinced Party wants to talk about jerky. "Sure." Party takes the pack Ghoul hands him and sticks a piece in his mouth, chewing patiently. "Are you okay?" Ghoul says, almost reluctantly, but Party knows he's not, just unsure.  
  
"If I say no?" Party replies, keeping his tone light.  
  
"Why no?" Ghoul sounds softer now.  
  
"I don't know if I'd want to explain it. But I might say no. If it was true." Party takes another bite.  
  
"You can say no without explaining why," Ghoul tells him softly, "I probably know anyway. But if you do wanna explain I don't mind." He reaches out and touches Party's wrist gently.  
  
Not being pissy, then. Or if he was, something stopped him. All right. "I'm not okay," Party tells him.  
  
"I know. How come?"  
  
"No one does what I want them to anymore," Party complains, knowing how stupid he sounds.  
  
"You mean us, or him?" Ghoul's voice fails to hide his faint smile.  
  
"I said no one, didn't I?"  
  
"Maybe no one can take you seriously," Ghoul shrugs.  
  
"Fuck," Party says, disgusted. Because fuck. He knows he's ridiculous. He actively tries to be ridiculous. But it still stings.  
  
"It was edgy when you put it forward as bribery, Party. It ain't when you're just fucking him." Ghoul shrugs again.  
  
The problem is, being Party Poison means being edgy. It's all he has, very literally. He knows, even as unsavoury as the idea is, that Ghoul is right.   
  
"You said it was for safety, but we haven't been very safe," Ghoul adds, quite gently, considering.  
  
"Whaddaya want me to say, baby? I'm a fuckup. I admit it. I fucked up."  
  
"I don't want you to say anything. You already know the solution." Ghoul chews his lip. "I'll stand beside you whatever you do, Party, you know I will, but if you wanna know why it's not working out, I'll tell you the truth."  
  
"I love you," Party tells him, more than a little miserably.  
  
"I love you too," Ghoul answers, again gently, "come on, let's go for a walk." He proffers his hand.  
  
"Lemme get my gun," Party sighs. He doubles back for it, and his jacket. When he returns to Ghoul, he's waiting by the door to the old gas station store. He holds out his hand again.   
  
Party takes it, watching his face, ghostly in the torchlight. His chest hurts, it's so full of feeling. Ghoul is no angel. He knows this. Ghoul is broken. He knows this too. But he has never cared. Can't care.  
  
They head out into the night and Party looks up immediately for the stars; distant satellites and ships. Ghoul rummages out a pack of cigarettes; offers him one. "Thanks," Party says, lighting it and savoring the first draw. Ghoul hums in acknowledgement. He can't stop watching Party.  
  
"Tell me what to do to help and I'll do it, Party," he murmurs.  
  
"Just don't give up on me," Party pleads after a moment. Ghoul grabs him then; jerks him in close, brows drawn, eyes dark.   
  
"Have I ever?"  
  
"Not yet," Party says.  
  
"And I won't," Ghoul mutters. He shoves him away again gently and they keep walking, trading the cigarette.  
  
It's cool tonight, a light wind bringing them the sounds of burrowing and skittering things in the dark. Party listens and feels himself settle a little; jitters die down. Even though it's dangerous and death-ridden, the desert always made him feel safe. Ghoul always makes him feel safe, too. Ghoul is meaner than anything out here.  
  
He takes his hand again when the smoke is done. "What're the guys doing?" he asks. The gas station had been quiet.  
  
"Kobra's sleeping, Jet's reading. Heard earlier on the waves that BLi were doing helicam sweeps so that's why the lights are snuffed."  
  
"Thought we just hadn't paid the bill," Party jokes.  
  
"Yeah," Ghoul cracks a grin, "for five years."  
  
"We suck," Party snickers.  
  
"What're you talking about, we're model citizens," Ghoul huffs a laugh and bumps their hips gently.  
  
"Oh, is that why we're on posters all over the zones?"  
  
"Yeah, we're wanted for an award." Ghoul stops suddenly and tugs Party in by the hips. Party's breath catches. He wets his lips.   
  
"What's the award for?"  
  
"Prettiest assholes in all the land," Ghoul replies.  
  
Party grins and nods, touching up his arms gently. "You do have an exceptionally pretty asshole."  
  
Ghoul cracks up. "You are the worst."  
  
"I'm the best at being the worst," Party agrees. He sighs. "I wanna kiss you. Can I kiss you?"  
  
"Yeah," Ghoul mumbles.  
  
Party noses at him. Murmurs. "You knew this was gonna end terribly. You’re right aren't you?"  
  
"Of course I'm right," Ghoul tells him. Party pouts softly, leaning their cheeks together.   
  
"I fucked up, huh."  
  
"Yeah, babe." Ghoul sighs again, breath rushing against Party's neck.  
  
Party wants to say he's sorry, but the words are sticking in his throat. He kisses Ghoul instead; grabs gently at his hair and presses in deep. Ghoul's mouth is soft and warm, welcoming like he's been expecting this, like he actually wants it, instead of Party just talking him into it. He sighs and tugs him in closer by his hips and Party whines.  
  
"I know, I know, one kiss and you're hot and ready to go," Ghoul teases. "Slow down."  
  
"I know, sorry, Jesus." Party looks down, blushing. "Shut up."  
  
"I didn't say I didn't like it."  
  
"So fucking do something about it," Party whines.  
  
"What, up against a fucking sand dune?" Ghoul kisses up his neck.  
  
"No, shit, yeah, that'd be something for the BLi helicam to see..." Party groans.  
  
"I'd do it in a minute if it didn't mean the drac squad appearing to blast our bare asses," Ghoul says sourly.  
  
Party giggles. "It'd be a way to go though, right?"  
  
"The most you thing ever," Ghoul agrees.  
  
Party grins; bites at his lower lip and drags it gently between his teeth. "Where then?"  
  
"We could go get the car," Ghoul murmurs.  
  
"Yeah- I guess- cramped though."  
  
"Not if I sit on your lap," Ghoul says, voice thick.   
  
Party whines; nods. He walks fast on the way back to the station. Ghoul is giggling at his shoulder. It's a beautiful sound. He fumbles out his keys as he gets toward the car, shoving at Ghoul gently. "We need some- fucking. Stuff."  
  
"You don't have some in the car?" Ghoul drawls.  
  
Party thinks. "Huh. I think I do actually."  
  
"Don't wanna know, just drive," Ghoul says.  
  
"It's in my bag," Party protests weakly, getting in. They don't really have to leave the station for this, but Ghoul feels better about it. Jet always looks weirdly traumatised if he ever busts them; Kobra judgemental. As if they both couldn't be doing worse. "Where to?" Party grins.  
  
"Utility building off of Guano?" Ghoul suggests. "It's not far."  
  
Party nods; pulls out, going careful: he doesn't want to turn on the headlights until he's a couple of hundred metres from the station. The road is shit around here, too. Ghoul swears a lot. Finally, Party slaps the headlights on and rights himself, grumbling. Ghoul puts his hand on Party's thigh. It's distracting.  
  
"What're you doing?" He grins helplessly. "We joyriding?"  
  
"You wanna?" Ghoul grins back.  
  
"Fuck yeah I do," Party grins wider. He loves it when Ghoul smiles, really smiles, it's the purest happiness he's ever seen. He loves it even more when Ghoul leans in and kisses his jaw slowly.

"You drive me crazy," Ghoul murmurs.  
  
"In a good way?" Party fails not to sound dubious.  
  
"At the moment." Ghoul says dryly.  
  
"Show me?" He grins at the tone.  
  
Ghoul's mouth finds his jaw again, traveling up to his ear. Party tries to focus on the road but it's hard. "Tryna make me crash, FG," he mutters.  
  
"Maybe, but if I were really trying to make you crash, I'd be doin' this..." His hand slides to cup Party through his jeans and he really does nearly crash.  
  
"Ghoul," he groans through his teeth, steadying the wheel. "We're almost there."  
  
"And yet I still can't wait," Ghoul bites his ear gently; worms his hand into Party's jeans, hand warm and tight. Party spits out a curse, hips pushing automatically into Ghoul's hand. His hands shake a little on the wheel, breath shaking too. Ghoul's leaning hard on his shoulder, nosing through his hair. He strokes slow, and Party puts his foot down.  
  
"You getting hard too?" he whimpers. His jeans are getting painfully tight.  
  
"I've been hard since you kissed me," Ghoul purrs.  
  
"Baby," Party moans. Ghoul hums laughter against his ear; strokes faster. Party sees the power station building on the left and swears thankfully.  
  
When he pulls in, he barely has time to slam on the hand brake before Ghoul is climbing into his lap. "Shiny," Ghoul mutters, kissing him hard and messy.  
  
Party arches; gets his hands on Ghoul's ass and kisses him back hungrily. Ghoul feels so good, small and compact and vibrating with energy. Party can't stop touching him. "Fuck, you're hot," he says, cupping Ghoul's ass as he rocks.  
  
"You're not wrong," Ghoul grins. "So do you wanna fuck or what?"  
  
"No, I drove out here to make out," Party mumbles, kissing his neck. He bites a little at the tendon.  
  
Ghoul groans and rocks down slowly with his hands. "Like fuck--"  
  
"You want me?" Party bites again, then licks down his jaw.  
  
"Yeah- bad-"   
  
Party nods fast. Ghoul pops the door open and slides out, wriggling out of his jeans while Party puts the seat back. They've worked out this routine over plenty of tries. Party grabs his bag and rummages for lube too as he shimmies his own jeans down; yanks Ghoul back into his lap as soon as he can and kills the headlights on the car."Want my fingers, baby?" he breathes.  
  
Ghoul grins. "You gotta ask?"  
  
"M'being polite," Party drawls, dribbling lube over his fingers.  
  
"No need to start," Ghoul grins, leaning in to kiss his neck. He gasps very quietly against the skin when Party pushes a finger inside him. He always misses him when he goes away but especially like this. Only Party can give him this. Party knows where to touch and how hard. "More," he groans weakly, after a few moments.  
  
Party gives him more, eyes gleaming with a mean-spirited sort of humor. Party sometimes likes it when he begs. The rest of the time, it's Party who begs.  
  
"Shit, I like your fingers," Ghoul breathes, arching down hard.  
  
"I like them too, especially when they're in you." Party leans in to kiss him again. Ghoul moans softly against his mouth. He's so hard, but he has to make this last. He paws at Party's shoulders; gasps and arches down rougher, rolling his hips. Party twists his fingers roughly.  
  
"Oh fuck- fuck," Ghoul keens.  
  
"Ride me, sugar," Party whispers. He removes his fingers; wraps his hand around his cock to steady himself as Ghoul groans and lines up. He swears as he sinks down.  
  
"Party, fuck," he's shoving his hips in fast circles before he can even acclimatise, the air already hot between them in the cramped space.  
  
"You're so tight," Party gasps. "Shit, FG."  
  
"Yeah- fuck, love having you inside me, Party." Party groans and bites at his neck again, hard enough to bruise. "Yes- yes- more-" Ghoul groans. He throws his head back so Party can lick up his throat. He's pulling him down faster, deeper, breathing hard against his skin.   
  
Ghoul squeezes his eyes shut and lets himself be moved. He's never felt Party like this, frantic to touch him, grateful to feel him- at least not like this. He can't get his hands to touch fast enough either. Can't stop himself moaning with every stroke of his hips. His heart feels like it might burst messy and urgent from his chest.  
  
"Party," he buries his face in his hair; shoves his hips down faster, "holy fuck-"  
  
"That's right," Party hisses against his cheek, "let go, let em see you, let me hear you."  
  
"Fucking touch me," Ghoul whines. Party coos in his ear, maybe a little mocking, but he does also wrap a long-fingered hand around Ghoul's cock and squeeze gently. "Fuck," Ghoul breathes again. He grabs Party's hair and tugs his head back, kissing his neck as he bucks into his hand. It's hot as hell inside the car and they're both sweating, and the only reason they're not making the suspension protest is that it's seen much worse out here.  
  
Party groans and strokes him fast, pushing his nose into his shoulder, breathing hard. He rocks his hips up in short, sharp bursts. Ghoul is getting unbearably tight. He needs to come so bad his vision is going spotty. He strokes Ghoul faster, flicking sweat damp hair from his eyes. "Come on baby- come on Ghoul-"  
  
Ghoul tugs harder on his hair, pulling him in for another kiss that's mostly sweat and spit. It’s a few moments before he's clenching and coming, moaning against Party's lips as come drops onto his shirt. Party loosens his grip but keeps thrusting up with his hips, mouth open against Ghoul's cheek. He's close, so fucking close.  
  
"Cmon baby, make some noise," Ghoul groans. Party pushes his face into his neck as he thrusts faster. Ghoul throws his arms around Party's neck and holds him close. It only takes a few more long strokes and he comes with his mouth against Ghoul's skin. It feels like releasing an electric charge. He holds on as it bolts through him; keeps hold even when it fades. Ghoul is heavy and boneless on top of him.  
  
"Jeez, Ghoul," Party mumbles.  
  
"Wha," Ghoul slurs back against his cheek.  
  
"You're so. I love you," Party says.  
  
"I know, dumbass," Ghoul tells him lazily. They sit a while longer, then Ghoul extricates himself; climbs out the car and stretches, humming in satisfaction. He cleans himself lazily with a bandana and fixes his clothes, watching Party the whole time. He's lax in his seat, watching him right back and breathing hard. He grins.  
  
"Nice," he breathes.   
  
Ghoul laughs; leans in to kiss him as he cleans him up too. He drops back onto Party's lap when he's done, legs dangling out the open door. "What now, fearless leader?"  
  
"Mmm- immediately or in general?"  
  
"Either, both," Ghoul pets his hair.  
  
"We go back to the station and sleep... And tomorrow we start looking for a new home and a fresh start, I guess." Party looks up at him, gaze almost questioning.  
  
"Why?" Ghoul says.  
  
Party makes a face. "Just to be safe."  
  
"Why?" Ghoul says again, eyes narrowing.  
  
"I just think the gas station is too big to be guarded by the four of us. Too many entrances and stuff," Party shrugs weakly. Ghoul looks skeptical. "Seriously." Party shakes him gently. "Don't be a jerk."  
  
"M'always a jerk," Ghoul says, slumping against Party's shoulder.  
  
"No more'n me," Party grumbles. He tugs on Ghoul's hair until he can kiss him. "C'mon, Fun Ghoul," he murmurs, "let's go."  
  
Ghoul shrugs and slides back into the passenger seat. "Drive."


	10. Chapter 10

The next morning, Ghoul wakes to Party waving oatmeal under his nose. "Morning, baby."  
  
"You...cooked," Ghoul replies doubtfully.  
  
"I did not," Party protests, "I put oats and water in a pan and held it over a fire."  
  
"And I'm sure there was no way you could have made that go wrong."  
  
"Look, do you want it or not?" Party raises an eyebrow. "I put sugar in it to cover up the burnt stuff."  
  
Ghoul takes it and starts scooping it into his mouth. It's actually not awful, which is historical in itself. He's not quite sure why Party is cooking for him either, except that Party has been going out of his way to be sweet ever since...yeah.  
  
"What's the occasion?" he asks.  
  
"I had the time," Party shrugs.  
  
Ghoul narrows his eyes but keeps eating. "The others?"  
  
"Jet had some, Kobra said he'd sooner eat roadkill."  
  
"Your baby brother," Ghoul says, shaking his head and sighing.  
  
"I know, he's a fucking delight. Let me get my stuff and we can go on a run," Party says lazily.  
  
"Sure. What for?"  
  
"Fun, I guess? Scrounge some stuff that will make Kobra less of an asshole?" Party suggests.  
  
"We'll have to scrounge a lot of shit," Ghoul mumbles.  
  
"Right?" Party laughs and straps his gun to his thigh.  
  
"So I'll need some more oatmeal."  
  
Party grins. "Uh huh. Sure, come to the kitchen."  
  
Ghoul helps himself when they're in there, and stood yawning in front of the stove, in his boxers and nothing else but the sun on him, Party can almost imagine for a moment that the wars never happened. He smiles at the thought. Imagines Ghoul in some sunny apartment - or, better yet, a house, something Party considers as mythical as unicorns. Living out their days eating oatmeal and sitting on the front porch to smoke and watch the sun go down. He rolls his eyes at himself.  
  
Something roils in his stomach as he suddenly remembers Korse, stops ignoring the niggling presence of him in the back of his mind. It's been there for days, if he's honest. He sighs at the thought; runs a hand through his hair. He's immersed himself so fully in Ghoul that the itch was ignorable. Now, with thoughts of porches and sunlight and love, it all comes flooding back. He swallows thickly. He's still in love, but he's also petrified. The last time he'd seen Korse had felt so ominous, more charged and loaded than any time before, even the first time.  
  
He focuses back on Ghoul, sleep wrinkles on his cheek and mismatched tattoos. He has to remember what started it all, and that was Ghoul. Ghoul, Kobra and Jet. If being with Korse isn't helping to keep them safe, working to their advantage, then it's not worth the risk. No love is worth putting them in danger. If that fucking hurts, it's his own damn fault. And it will fucking hurt. It already does.  
  
When Ghoul is done eating, Party trails him back to their room and watches him dress. "What's with you today? Ghoul grumbles. Party smiles weakly.  
  
"I just want company?" Party says. It definitely comes out as a question.  
  
Ghoul eyes him, then sighs and holds an arm out. "Come here."   
  
Party goes. Ghoul's unbuckled belt presses against his stomach when Ghoul hugs him. He smells of smoke and dirt. Party huffs a breath of relief and hangs on. Finally Ghoul pushes him back so he can finish dressing. Party sits down and waits, trying not to think, to make a decision. If he makes one, he knows he has to deal with the consequences.  
  
"Trans Am have gas? We can take the bikes," Ghoul asks, slinging his vest over his holster.  
  
"Probably more efficient to take one." Party suggests mildly.  
  
"You just want me between your legs," Ghoul snorts.  
  
Party gives him a wolfish grin. "Well, when you say it like that..." Ghoul rolls his eyes. Party bites his lower lip and bounces up on his toes. "So one bike, yeah?"  
  
"Yeah," Ghoul swats at him until he goes outside.   
  
Party grabs his goggles; pulls them over his head and yanks out his scarf from his back pocket. "So where are we headed?"  
  
"You wanted to scope new digs, yeah? Let's go out to Five." Ghoul waits for an argument.  
  
"Five? Yeah, let's wear our rebreathers 24/7 and kiss goodbye to our skin."  
  
"Fine, Four then. The farther out we go the safer we are, you know that."  
  
"Yeah, from dracs, not from the weather," Party grumbles, slipping onto the bike behind Ghoul as he levers it off the wall with his weight. But Ghoul has a point. Five would be safest from dracs. Five would... It would make them safe. He sighs and pulls his goggles down and his scarf up. "Did you have somewhere in mind in Five?"  
  
"Let's just see what we see," Ghoul murmurs.  
  
Party nods and sighs; hides his face in Ghoul's back as he stamps the engine to life. Ghoul takes them screaming across the sand. Party holds on.  
  
Party brought a backpack, and they scavenge each time they stop to get their bearings. It's slim pickings, but they find a few bits. Party likes the looks of a diner they find in a little valley. Ghoul thinks it's got too many windows, but they can board those easily enough. There are plenty of old tables left in there, too, for wood. Party likes it, but he keeps them moving.  
  
There's an abandoned factory right on the border of Five, but it's too big to effectively guard. An old storage warehouse gives much the same issue. The warehouse has an office with a couch, though, and Party marks it on their map for later scavenging and blows Ghoul on it for good measure.  
  
It reminds him somewhat painfully of Korse. Different warehouse. Different couch. Different lover. Fuck, he misses him. He looks at the sky when they emerge from the warehouse; looks for any sign of cameras or droids, but there's nothing out here.  
  
"Home?" Ghoul asks him, seeing his glance.  
  
"Sure," Party leans into him as they walk. It's hard to stay guarded around here; there's no one for miles and BLI doesn't track out here very often.  
  
They get back on the bike and Ghoul heads back to the station. Party purposefully doesn't look around for cameras as they go, just keeps his face tucked into his back.   
  
It's a faster trip straight back. They get back to the gas station and fill the others in on the spots they found in Five as they eat slightly burnt canned beans. Kobra looks a little puzzled at the news. "Why're we moving?"  
  
"Because Party is a dumbass," Ghoul says.  
  
Party glares at Ghoul. Kobra is still staring at them both. "What did you do?"  
  
"Nothing," Party grumbles. "It's just safer out there."  
  
Kobra rolls his eyes. "You fucked up with the Robocop? How? No, wait, don't tell me."  
  
"Nothing's fucked up," Party hisses, "shut your hole."  
  
"Whatever," Kobra sighs. "We'll go check them all out."  
  
Party looks down at his lap, feeling his face heat up at the thought of Korse. What is he going to tell Korse? Is he going to be able to tell him anything? He bites his lips. He knows he's slowly gaining on a foregone conclusion, but it still feels like a rock dropped into the pit of his stomach. Maybe he could find a way...  
  
He's not going to be able to find a way. He takes another bite of beans. He feels like he's making a mistake, but it's the obvious choice.   
  
He sulks at the thought the rest of the night and through his watch; crawls into bed with Ghoul when it's over and squirms continually as he waits for sleep. Ghoul spoons up behind him, breathing steadily. Party knows he's awake now even so, probably lying there knowing he's awake too. Jet snores obliviously across the room.  
  
"Do you think we'll ever be able to stop running?" Party asks the dark.  
  
There's a pause. "No," Ghoul says. "Not really."  
  
Party absorbs it, then he turns in Ghoul's arms; curls into his body and tucks his head under his chin. "Me neither."  
  
Ghoul strokes his hair, hating that he couldn't give a different answer. Party falls asleep, breathing softly into his throat. Ghoul holds him and hates everything that made him say no. He doesn't understand Party all the time, but he knows that whatever is going on inside his head, whatever fucked up shit he gets into, it's always for them. Sometimes it just doesn't work out that way is all.   
  
Party never takes it well. This will be no different. And Ghoul has a feeling this in particular will go down like a sack of shit. He loves this crazy fucker so much. He doesn't want to see him hurting again; he wears it like an open wound, ugly and raw.  
  
He's not sure, sometimes, which one of them is gonna burn out first. Usually though, he's fairly sure it’s gonna be Party. He sighs at the thought as he drifts off, holding onto him tight.  
  
They wake up to the sound of blaster fire and explosions. Party jolts upright, throwing the blanket off, then he lurches to his feet. "Ghoul- Jet? Anyone hit?"  
  
Ghoul throws on his holster over a bare chest. "Shit. No."   
  
"Where's my brother?" Party lurches off the mattress.  
  
"He was on watch-" Jet is charging his gun, tugging a shirt over his head and startling when he hears another crash. Party bolts for the roof to find Kobra.  
  
Shitting fuck, they are fucking swimming in dracs. His stomach drops. Even in the moonlight, he can see them swarming. He looks around frantically for Kobra.  
  
Ghoul appears next to him on the roof and immediately starts shooting. "Party!" he snaps, and Party loads his own raygun; kneels on the lip of the roof and picks off a few goons closest to the station, trying to locate Kobra all the while. Finally he sees a few wobbly bursts from the direction of the old gas pumps and vaults off the roof, landing on a tin shed roof underneath them with a crash and rolling to the edge.  
  
When he hits the ground, he's immediately swamped in masks and hands, and he thinks only fleetingly of his promise to Korse as he blows anyone who gets close enough full of disco lights. White suits stagger and fall all around him, shots coming from Ghoul on the roof and Jet from the workshop. When Party runs out of charge, he starts kicking and punching until he can see the pumps.  
  
Kobra is bleeding, and Party's heart jumps into his mouth at the black wetness on his shirt. He throws himself down beside him; takes his gun off him and blows several more approaching dracs back into the dirt. "What happened? Why didn't you call us-?!"  
  
"Took me...surprise..." Kobra gasps, fumbling batteries into Party's lap. "So many..."  
  
"Shit, Kobra, don't you dare die or pass out-" Party loads his spent gun and uses both his and Kobra's to bowl down another half dozen dracs coming toward them. When it seems like Ghoul and Jet are holding the majority, he kneels over Kobra's lap and starts to wrestle him out of his jacket carefully. "The fuck happened to you?" There aren't any scorch marks.  
  
"Fucking knife, right?" Kobra grits. "Got me by surprise-"  
  
You were on watch -" Party's only yelling because he's worried; he grits his teeth and takes out another group of dracs. Fuck, there are dozens of them.  
  
"I heard a fucking noise- from ground level- and fuck, since when did dracs use switchblades-?" Kobra pants, and he points one of Party's hands over his shoulder and shoots.  
  
"Tryna be stealthy?" Party shrugs. Fuck, he doesn't know how to patch up a stab wound.  
  
Kobra tuts at him; starts to pull up his own shirt. "Pressure, Party."  
  
Party grunts and gets a handful of cotton against the wound. "Fine, you shoot."  
  
"Fine-" Kobra knocks the gun against Party's shoulder, resting it there. "Keep pressing, don't let up. Need Jet really-"  
  
"Pinned down inside," Party grumbles. The barrel of the gun is hot against his skin.  
  
Kobra takes a few shots, then swears. "How many more are there-?"  
  
"Fuckin...too many." He tugs his belt off and buckles it around Kobra's chest to hold the padding in place. Kobra grunts when he hooks an arm around him to start levering him up. "Sorry," Party gasps, steadying Kobra and lifting his gun with his other hand.  
  
They brace one another, one wide gunslinger between them, and start back toward the gas station, killing every drac that comes at them. "We need to get out of here," Party mutters. "They'll send reinforcements soon."  
  
"The car," Kobra agrees weakly, but it's around the corner and they need Jet and Ghoul.  
  
"Can you make it there yourself?" Party asks, propping Kobra against the side of the building.  
  
"Can you ask another stupid question?" Kobra breathes.  
  
"We need stuff from the workshop."  
  
"Party, there's no time." He shrugs; adds: "Ghoul will be grabbing stuff if he's in there."  
  
Party grits his teeth and changes course, helping Kobra to the car. There are yet more dracs approaching from the distance, but Party can see that the ones outside the station are starting to thin out. As he gets toward the car there's a deafening explosion followed by a blistering wave of heat and force that knocks him and Kobra forward against the car.  
  
"Ghoul had better have had that on a timer," he says, teeth clenched.  
  
Kobra nods and wrenches the car door open. "He must have thrown it from the roof."   
  
Party jumps into the driver's seat and skirts around the side of the building. "D'you see them?"  
  
"Yeah, I think they're-" Kobra pauses and they both suddenly know where they are. Around a fire escape there's a crowd of dracs. Party swears and guns the engine. These motherfuckers can play fucking chicken. He'll win. "Don't crush the other two," Kobra warns weakly. He's sweating and clutching at the dashboard.  
  
Party runs a couple down, then jerks the wheel and skids to a stop, firing out the driver's side window. He sees Jet's hair, sees him supporting Ghoul. "Get in the car!" he screams. Jet seems to scramble, then he holds up a hand grenade. The dracs immediately start to scatter. Jet drags Ghoul toward the car as Party takes out any of the goons brave enough to go at Jet while he's holding a fucking grenade in the air. He doesn't know what's wrong with Ghoul, but he has to get them out of here before he finds out.  
  
They get into the car and he looks around to yell at Jet about the grenade. "It's a dud-" Jet interrupts. "We gotta go to Dr. D."  
  
"We have to lose the stiffs," Kobra grits.  
  
"The station is rigged to blow," Ghoul breathes. He looks pale, "it'll take out anyone within a hundred-foot radius, step on it Party."  
  
sParty swears and stomps on the gas, fishtailing until he hits a patch of blacktop. "Did you get anything-?"  
  
"I got your boy's backpack," Ghoul mutters, "so I can check it for fucking bugs."  
  
Party's stomach clenches. Korse wouldn't have needed bugs. Party had told him exactly where they lived. He glances at Kobra, who just meets his gaze with weariness. Behind them, the gas station explodes.  
  
Party just drives aimlessly for a while, trying to shake any pursuit that had survived. Eventually, he glances in the rearview and sees that Ghoul is looking pretty grey. He swallows and swerves toward the road. "We need a medic, who should we go to, Jet?"  
  
"I told you, Dr. D. He's got somebody staying right now."  
  
"Who?"  
  
"Girl from the Bloodrain crew. Something cat." Jet leans up to the front seat. "Kobra, you okay?"  
  
"I'm... I don't think it's that bad- the bleeding is slowing." Kobra looks back at him, smiling shakily. "Are you okay?"  
  
"Dunno, not sure how much hearing I had to lose," Jet says, attempting a laugh.  
  
Kobra grins weakly. "It can only be an advantage, Ghoul is gonna start yelling at Party soon."  
  
"Fuck you," Party says weakly.  
  
"He's right," Ghoul grumbles, "I think I've broken my fucking wrist."  
  
"On your fucking giant bomb?" Party snaps.  
  
"On a fucking giant Draculoid sent by your fucking boyfriend," Ghoul throws back.  
  
"He didn't!" Party yells.  
  
"You don't fucking know that!" Ghoul snaps. "That was too many fucking dracs to be random, you asshole."   
  
"He wouldn't fucking do that!" Party tries. Kobra looks dubious.   
  
"You told him where we lived...?"   
  
Party doesn't answer.  
  
"Of course he did. Coincidentally the last time he saw him." Ghoul scoffs.  
  
"Shut up!" Party shouts. Ghoul goes silent. Everyone is silent, then. Party looks ahead and heaves a shaking breath. He's going to have to pull over and throw up if anyone says another word. He can feel a scream perched in his throat, ready to burst out at any moment. In the rearview, he sees Jet silently touching at Ghoul's wrist, feeling for damage. Kobra's profile is like stone.  
  
When he pulls up to Dr. D's squat, he gets out and helps Kobra inside without a word. Once he and Ghoul are being seen to, he goes outside, taking the backpack out of the Trans Am and rummaging out a pack of cigarettes. He smokes three in the space of ten minutes. Only then does he let himself think about anything else.  
  
The gas station is gone, along with all of their stuff that wasn't in the Trans Am. They're gonna have to start from scratch. And that isn't even the thing he most doesn't want to think about. In his gut, he can't believe that Korse would have done that, but... He knows it can't be a coincidence.  
  
 _I love you_ , he hears himself telling Korse.  
  
  
He does throw up then. Retches where he's stood and has to lurch over to the wall to heave. He presses his forehead hard against the wall when he's done. He can't stop running over it in his head. He can't believe he could be so fucking stupid.  
  
"So dumb, Party, so so fucking dumb." He can't believe he fucking fell for it. " _Tell me where you hang so I can keep you safe, Red_ ," he mimics, in an approximation of Korse's accent. " _Tell me where you hang so I can murder your boys in their beds_." He bumps his forehead up against the rough brickwork and whines. He wants to cry like a baby.  
  
Behind him, he hears boots on the sand and crumples a bit. He can't look. Maybe something poisonous will bite him. Maybe it's Korse come to finish off the job.   
  
"Party."  
  
"No," he groans.  
  
"You're in shock. You need water." It's Jet, kneeling down to offer him a bottle.  
  
"Fuck water," he groans, curling tighter.  
  
"Drink it," Jet says, uncharacteristically stern. Party frowns and takes it, sipping gently. Jet kneels beside him, carefully avoiding the puke. "Kobra's okay. It's not a deep wound," he says softly.  
  
Party nods. "Ghoul?" he rasps.  
  
"He's fine... Fucking angry..." Jet murmurs. Party nods. He knows. Jet watches him for a long moment. He sighs softly. "Tomorrow I'll go out with Pony and set up perimeters. Ghoul said you found a diner you liked the look of? We can go there."  
  
He doesn't say anything about how Party probably knew what was coming. Party doesn't either. He should have known. He should have always known. Maybe he did.   
  
"I'm sorry," he whispers against the wall.  
  
Jet pets his hair. "It'll be okay, Party."  
  
"It won't, I'll... I can't kill him, Jet. Ghoul will want him dead."  
  
"Probably," Jet says slowly.  
  
"I can't." Party looks around slowly. "But I have to, don't I?"  
  
Jet shrugs. "I dunno, Party. But you're gonna have to be ready to." Party closes his eyes. He wants to collapse in the sand and stay there. Jet reaches out and rubs his back. "Tomorrow will be better."  
  
He's wrong. They're all going to be worse.  
  
As he predicted, the next day is terrible. Neither Ghoul nor Kobra will speak to him. Show Pony seems to be making a point of openly tutting and shaking his head. Dr. D doesn't even seem interested in receiving him, which means basically he's pissed right off: the gas station had been a pretty critical surveillance point. Party doesn't know what they've told Doc, but they obviously have made it clear its Party's fault.  
  
He just sulks; goes with Jet to scope out the new digs. Out in Five, the sun blazes and the wind sends the sand scouring across his cheeks. He stares at the beaten-up diner front and sighs. It's actually less shitty than the gas station, but it'll take a lot of work, and carbons, to get the plywood to board it up. He glances at Jet, who just shrugs.  
  
"Better get started."  
  
*  
  
"Party," Ghoul calls when he sees Party walk by the diner kitchen with his rebreather under his arm, "Dr. D sent a message, runner saw somebody wandering around out here this morning."  
  
"Somebody?" Party lifts the Mousekat head up more securely; squints at Ghoul. "Sounds vague."  
  
"Somebody walking," Ghoul clarifies. "Can you go check it out? We could use car parts if they had a breakdown."  
  
Party shrugs. "If they didn't, it's a waste of gas."

Carbons are tight; it's taken them months to fix up the diner and this far out in Five there's less traffic for Party's pill sidelines. It’s his own fault, they’ve all silently agreed. Thankfully none of the other gangs caught wind of what happened, or how it was connected to Party, but things have been strained since they left the gas station. It seems whatever credibility Party had amongst his family, Ghoul and Jet and Kobra, and even Dr. D and Pony, it’s waned now.

It's been almost a year. Party still hasn’t recovered – doesn’t know if he ever will. He has no concrete proof this is Korse’s doing: after all the Zones are constantly under surveillance, someone could have just caught his trail and followed him. Even so, the coincidence seems too great. Party has a great imagination – he bets the big boss was listening in the whole time, waiting to hear the magic words. Had Korse given the order as soon as he left? Had he even needed to? The whole time, Party never doubted him. His supposed rank-breaking had been all he needed to convince himself he’d be enough to change him. In his most indulgent moments, he’d imagined them getting away, Korse and the boys, to the other side of the map where society was still more-or-less functional.

Party always thought he was the one who pulled the wool around here. Seems Korse is a better method actor than he gave him credit for. All it took was good sex, a little kindness, and Party folded. He bought his own bullshit.   
  
"C’mon," Ghoul interrupts his thoughts, tugging the head out of his hands and leaning against Party's shoulder. "It'll be your good deed for the year."  
  
He shrugs; looks down. "All right. I'll go now." On impulse, he leans in to kiss Ghoul's temple, then heads outside.   
  
Jet hollers for him from the roof of the diner. "Patrol?"  
  
"Ghoul's sent me on a scavenging errand," Party says, squinting up at him. "I'm taking the car in case there's scraps. That okay?"  
  
"Take that case of shingles that's sitting on the counter, it's for the Rock Bottom crew if you see them," Jet calls down.  
  
Party huffs but does as he's told: if he has to play courier for a while until they forgive him, that’s fine by him. Shooting out onto the road feels as good as ever; the roof is down, and the radio is blasting and he feels... Okay. His eyes stinging at the unwelcome reminiscence isn’t an uncommon occurrence. He wipes wetness off his cheeks with the back of his sleeve, and turns the radio up.  
  
After a quick circuit of the area, Party parks and gets out to check the foothills. Ghoul had said the sighting was around here. Party puts his helmet back on: there're plenty of leaks around this side of Five.  
  
Crunching through sand and dead grasses, he scans the horizon, sees movement, follows automatically. It's only when he gets close that he can see what he's found. Without hesitating, he pulls his helmet off again; stares at the child, scarcely able to believe it. What the hell is a kid doing all the way out in Five? Does it even matter? She's a goner if he doesn't take her back to the diner. She's small, not much older than eight, he's figuring. Holding a robot toy. His stomach lurches.  
  
"What're you doing out here?" he asks, because- because he needs to.  
  
"Lost," she says, chin quivering in an attempt to look tough.  
  
He laughs. "We're all lost out here, kid. You need someone to be lost with?"  
  
She watches him for a long moment, then nods. He holds out his hand. "Come on. I got a whole bunch of lost boys. You can be one too."  
  
He needs to call the Doc right away. This is a little bit weirder than some runner with a broken-down car. She takes his hand, and he walks her back to the car.   
  
"Got a name?" he asks.  
  
She frowns as she gets in. "Do I need one?"  
  
"Out here in the Zones, kid, you get to pick one. I'm Party Poison."

The sun is hot, and her curls glow. When Party opens the door for her, she hops in. They speed away, leaving a plume of sand behind. A surveillance rig follows their movements, until they're out of sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the end! We have a second part totally finished that we'll upload soon if y'all are interested. It takes place after the events of the Killjoys: California comics. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> xoxo


End file.
